I'd Come For You
by Brown-Eyed Girl 75
Summary: FLACK/OC "It's time to make up for my past and try my hand at the future." Flack, Dean Truby's ex wife and a precocious toddler. Recipe for disaster? Or a paradise waiting to be discovered? Some DL, some SMACKED in later chapters
1. When You're Gone

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. OBVIOUSLY.**

**SO I THOUGHT I'D TRY MY HAND AT SOMETHING DIFFERENT. AS USUAL, REVIEWS ARE ALWAYS WELCOME, BUT FLAMES WILL BE DISREGARDED. THIS IS ALL FOR FUN. SIMPLE AS. NO NEED FOR NASTINESS.**

**WHILE THE TITLE OF THIS STORY IS TAKEN FROM THE SONG BY NICKELBACK, THIS IS _NOT_ A SONG FIC!**

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I'm considering this my 'Earl' moment.

You know, the now cancelled television show My Name Is Earl? Starring Jason Lee as the hapless, petty crook who wins a hundred grand in the lottery, only to lose it when he gets hit by a truck? Who decides, while cooped up in his hospital bed, to attempt to right all of his wrongs and make amends for all the shitty things he's ever done to people in the past. After he makes good with the first person in mind, he ends up finding that winning ticket of his and then takes it as a sign from God and makes a huge list of others that he's fucked over and feels the urge to kiss and make up with.

Although I'm not a fan of the show and would take my Rangers over a sitcom any day, Messer swears by Earl and his band of losers and thinks it was the greatest thing to ever hit the airwaves; he even watches the re-runs despite the fact he's got the box sets and knows the damn episodes word for word. I have, however, seen enough to get the whole premise that what goes around, in the end definitely comes around. And that Karma certainly is a big old fucking bitch. But I'm no Earl. Winning the jackpot hasn't prompted me to compose a list of everyone I've ever give the proverbial middle finger to in my life. All the people I've wrongfully accused for crimes, the perps that I've gotten a little too verbal with and a tad physical, only to find out in the end that they were innocent the entire time. The witnesses that maybe I haven't been the most friendly and accommodating to or the idiotic defence lawyers I've gone toe to toe with when I've been on the stand. Or the lab techs that I've nearly made piss their pants because I've gone up to the lab guns a blazing, barking orders and demanding answers and explanations and then feeling a since of satisfaction when I've realized I've made even the boys quiver in fear.

And I'm certainly not about to call up the family of the perp that killed Jessie and repent for blowing his sorry brains out. The guy had it coming and I'd do it again, a hundred times over, if the need ever arose. He had got what was coming to him, plain and simple. And when I'd walked out of that boiler room, my heart still shattered into a million pieces and feeling lost and empty, I'd been suddenly filled with the utmost sense of peace. As if I'd somehow righted a drastic wrong. That I was excused in the eyes of God for betraying my badge and myself for taking the action that I had. I'd known, in those split seconds before pulling the trigger, that what I was doing was wrong. That I should have simply just called for backup and let another cop, or even Danny, take the perp in. I should have just walked away and called it a day. The bad guys had been caught and would atone for what they had done. My job was done and there was no need to take things into my own hands. I should have been able to just turn and leave that boiler room and go and drown my sorrows in an endless supply of booze and then find some way to both accept what had happened to Jess, and to get on with my life.

A year later, I'm honestly unsure of why I'd done it. Why I'd chose to end a life instead of seeking the normal course of justice. Despite my personal beliefs of 'an eye for an eye' when I was growing, joining the academy and the years on the force had drilled it into me that letting the law handle things was the right way to go. At the time, with Jess' sudden and tragic death staring me in the face, the rage and the sorrow had been so overwhelming, so raw and powerful, that drawing blood and snuffing out the life responsible for taking hers had seemed like the only option.

Now, almost a year and an hour to the day that I talked to Jess' dad after her funeral, I realize that I'd gone about everything all wrong. Despite the fact that Danny's my boy and I know for a fact that he'll never rat on me, I live in constant paranoia that my dirty little secret will be exposed. That my single act of vengeance will come back to hand me in a big way and I'll end up both losing my badge, and spending the rest of my natural born life in Sing-Sing. At the time, I'd convinced myself that the undying, unwavering love that I felt for Jess had given me the green light to go ahead and avenge her death. And now…now I realize that my devotion wasn't so undying and unwavering after all. It didn't take the months I thought it would to get over losing her. I had thought for sure that I'd spent at least a year in a fog of alcohol and grief. That I'd toss and turn every night and pine for her for at least the better part of three hundred and sixty five days. At least. That it would take a hell of a long time before it hurt to speak her name or see her picture that it would kill me inside to pass her empty desk and frequent the places we once did with each other.

The truth was, a month after her death, life wasn't so painful for me anymore. I was able to both think about her and talk about her without feeling like complete and utter shit. I was able to pack the things she'd left at my apartment and take them over to her dad's without even feeling the least bit sentimental about it, or even wanting to keep something of hers behind. I'd thrown myself into my work and had found that I didn't sit back and stare at her empty chair and torture myself with thoughts of, 'What would Jess be doing right now?'. And I certainly didn't drink myself into a stupor every night and wonder 'what if'. I guess I'd just realized quickly that maybe I'd been more in love with the actual thought of being in love than I was with the actual person. Sad, but true. After a series of disastrous relationships -could Devon even really be called a relationship? Or the women I'd met in my daily travels that I'd spent little more than a couple of lust filled nights with?- Jess had given me some stability in my life. Someone to come home to and share my day with. Someone that adored me and accepted me no matter what. Although her concern with who knew about us and her seemingly indifference about the pile of shit I'd landed in with IAB over Todd Fleming had been, and should have been, almost enough to tell her to start packing her shit and get the hell out of my life. But I hadn't wanted to be alone. I'd done it for years and I was sick of it and I figured that one little mess up like that wasn't the end of the world. I liked having her around. Or should I say, having someone around. I now realize, a year after her death, that Jess and I hadn't been together long enough for me to actually love her as much as I thought I had. That we probably made better friends and co-workers than anything else. Nothing against her memory or the great times we had together, but I can admit now that she wasn't ever going to be my always and forever. That in a few months or a year or two, I would have woke up and looked at her and decided that I was done with the whole thing. Maybe that's just how I am. Maybe I'm not meant to be the monogamous, to death to us part kind of guy. Maybe I'm just meant to satisfy my physical and emotional needs for a certain length of time and that's it.

So I didn't love her. That much I'm sure of. But I do miss her and I do wish her back every day. But more so for her family than for myself. And I thank her for filling my life, even for such a short period of time, with a lot of wonderful moments and some stellar companionship.

It's Jess and her untimely and tragic death that has got me to where I am right now. The engine idling on my unmarked squad car as I sit behind the wheel, intently watching a one and a half storey red brick house on that quiet, tree lined street in Flushing, Queens. A block away from my own folks' place, the house and its small patch of grass out front are well kept and welcoming. There are white lace curtains on the front living room window and planter boxers of vibrant flowers -pansies and petunias from what I can see- lining the entire length of the driveway and dangling over the black wrought iron railing. A royal blue tricycle is upended in the middle of the front yard and the owner, a little boy in a pair of khaki shorts, bare feet, a Mets t-shirt and cap is tearing around, giggling noisily as his mother - a water gun on her hand- and a golden retriever puppy both chase him. Their laughter and the dog's barking float on the breeze, and the picture of stable and happy home life brings a smile to my face.

I'm here to make amends with the one person that is on my list. The sole benefactor of my 'Earl Moment'. I haven't seen Bree-Anne Truby in close to three years now, since the day that she testified against her estranged husband during his trial for not only murdering Kym Tanaka, but for stealing those drugs from the raid and attempting to profit from the crime. The shit had certainly hit the fan when Breezy took the stand. She'd painted a picture of Truby that had had me, and I'm sure many others, wanting to vault over the wooden railing separating him and his team of lawyers from the spectator gallery. She'd talked about the emotional pain and suffering that she'd suffered at his hands from day one of their ill fated relationship and short year and a half marriage. While he wasn't physically abusive, he was a nasty ass sonofabitch that enjoyed berating his pretty young wife not only in private, but in front of all his buddies as well. He got off on seeing her squirm and having her flee the room in tears, while everyone laughed more out of shock and embarrassment then anything else.

The defence had jumped on Breezy during cross-examination. To be honest, I hadn't wanted her to testify in the first place and had told her so. I didn't see the reason for her to be up there, exposing herself and her and Dean's dirty little secrets to the entire world. I knew that getting her on the stand would be traumatic for her and that there were things that were just better left unsaid instead of being dragged out into the open. She'd accused me of wanting to protect myself, not her. She'd called me an insensitive bastard who'd only cared about not wanting to embarrass and sully his own reputation. After all, everyone knowing that Donald Flack Junior had been having an affair for nearly a year with Truby's wife would only tarnish the department Golden Boy.

xxxxx

Maybe I should back up a bit and give a little more background on what had actually been going down between Bree-Anne and I. This wasn't just a case of meeting one of my guys' wives and being instantly and tremendously attracted to her and deciding that I needed to have her for myself. We have history. Stretching as far back as grade nine and lasting for the four years between our start of high school and her entrance into college and my own into the NYPD academy. I'd met Breezy -a nickname I'd lumped on her during our first date as nervous and awkward fourteen year olds- on the very first day of high school. I'd been pissed off that my locker was located what seemed like miles away from any of my friends, and had been fighting with the combination lock when I'd heard a giggle from behind me, and then had caught a whiff of baby powder and had felt silky skin brush against my bare arm.

Suddenly there was this willowy and stunningly beautiful minor niner sidling up to me, a warm smile on her face and her brown eyes sparkling up at me in amusement. She was hot. There was no second-guessing that. But there was something so…wholesome…about her that had had me intrigued right from the get go. No make up graced her flawless and creamy face and unlike most girls who rolled their kilts up so they barely covered their asses, hers just skimmed the top of her knees. She had one the knee length socks and her blouse was buttoned nearly to the top. Yet I'd still been given a little glimpse of that dainty gold cross she wore around her neck.

"_Looks like you're having some problems there, handsome," she drawled in her Queens accent, and bumping my hip with hers, shooed me to the side and grabbed a hold of the piece of paper bearing my combination from my hand. "Stand back and let the mistress take care of things," she said, and I'd done just that, a smirk on my face and doubt in my mind as I watched her tackle the job at hand. And my pride had been trampled a bit when she not only managed to get the damn thing unlocked, but slammed her first against the metal door to pop it open._

"_You're good," I said, nodding my approval as she stepped out of the way and I began unpacking my backpack._

"_I'll take that as a thank you," she grinned, then unlocked the locker beside mine. "Looks like we're neighbours," she chirped, then offered a hand. "I'm Bree-Anne. Bree-Anne Douglas."_

"_I'm Don," I shook the tiny, delicate hand in front of me. "Don Flack."_

"_Don, huh?" she crinkled her nose in slight disgust. "Reminds me of a grandpa name. Think I can call you Donnie?"_

I'd never, ever let anyone outside of my parents call me that before. I detested the nickname and it made me cringe every time I heard it. But there was something about the name Donnie coming out of those glistening, peach coloured lips that made it so damn beautiful. And I'd been unable to resist telling her that she could call me whatever the hell she liked.

Breezy and I had hit it off right away. Even if we were opposites. She was a church going girl that shied away from most extracurricular activities save for the decorating community and the drama club. She avoided cheerleading like the plague, while I easily and effortlessly made it onto the football and hockey teams. I was a jock, she was a brainer and an introvert. And despite the ribbing I took from my buddies and guys on the team, things just worked for Breezy and I. Her folks loved me because I came from good stock, as her old man had put it. My dad was a NYPD legend so in his eyes it automatically meant that I had a responsible head on my shoulders and that I'd treat his daughter like the princess she was. Her mom thought I was devastatingly handsome with my thick black hair and my blue eyes and said I had the best manners she'd ever encountered in someone my age. Boy or girl.

Breezy and I had been each other's firsts. For everything. We were each other's first real relationship. One another's first lovers. Years later, I can still remember that night at my folks' place after junior prom, down in the basement while everyone else in the family was fast asleep. I'd finally managed to make it past second base, and when she'd shown no objections to me trying to take things further, I'd taken the opportunity. At the time, it hadn't been just the first sex we'd ever had, but also the best. Hell, we wouldn't have known bad sex if it jumped up and bit us in the ass. And for the next two years, we'd learned how to please each other and had enjoyed exploring every inch of each other's bodies.

It had broken my heart when Breezy had gone away for school. She'd gotten a scholarship to Georgetown. She'd always wanted to be a teacher and she'd been given her chance to further her education while I stayed behind in Queens and followed in my dad's footsteps by joining the academy. We'd tried our hands at a long distance relationship, but it became apparent that we were too immature and that we were drifting further and further apart. I was all about being a cop, she was all about excelling in her academics. So at the end of her first summer home, we'd come to a mutual decision that while we loved each other, a future just wasn't in the cards.

It had been, after years of wondering and wishful thinking, a shock when a now grown up and mature Breezy had walked into the twelfth precinct that day in 2006, looking for Dean Truby. He'd been under my watch for a few weeks and he was honestly the best rookie detective that I'd ever had the pleasure of working with. He was conscientious and reliable, dedicated and driven, punctual and tenacious. A supervisor's dream come true, in fact. And I'd been dumbfounded to find out that not only did Truby and I have the badge in common, but Bree-Anne as well. They'd met a year before, after she'd taken a teaching position at a Catholic inner city school that Truby coached football for, and just gotten married three months before and were living in a cramped one bedroom in lower Manhattan. I'd tried to act happy for the guy. I really did. Breezy was as stunning as ever and I'd been unable to take my eyes off of her or get over the fact that after nearly a decade, she was standing right in front of my face.

Things had started out honourable. Two friends re-connecting. And it had been a few months before Breezy admitted to me, in a tear filled phone call at three in the morning after Dean went on one of his drinking binges, what was really going on behind closed doors. I'd offered her a place to stay, to get away for a couple of days. Our little secret. And a couple of days had turned into a couple of weeks and we'd somehow managed to fall into bed with each other shortly after her first night at my apartment. I'd taken advantage of the situation. She was needy and desperate to feel loved and important. I was lonely and miserable and there she was, my first love, right under my nose. And even after she went back to Dean to appease him, Breezy and I had kept things going. Only it had transformed from incredible sex to an impenetrable bond. We'd fallen back in love with each other and were determined that we'd be together. Our plan had been to go to Dean together and tell him what was going on, and that Breezy would leave with me and file for divorce as soon as possible.

Only we never got the chance to start on our happily ever after. I'd gotten the call out to that warehouse that night involving a dead paint baller and I'd left Breezy peacefully sleeping in my bed. It would be nearly twenty-four hours until I'd return to my place and I'd tell her exactly what had happened. That Dean had been arrested for murder and that he'd also been responsible for stealing drugs from a raid and selling them on the street.

I'd dropped Breezy off at her folks' house that night. My plan had been to let things cool down for a bit. So that it didn't seem as if I'd jumped into a thing with Truby's estranged wife while he was awaiting trial. Only sometimes the best-laid plans just don't pan out. Because the next time I saw her, Breezy had been six months pregnant with Dean's baby -she'd assured me that it was his, that I didn't have to worry about her coming after me for child support- and I had been fighting about her testifying against Dean and she'd been accusing me of being embarrassed to be involved with her. After the trial, we'd both gone our separate ways. She'd moved in with her parents and I'd tossed myself into my work. Story of my life. Become super cop when the cards weren't in my favour.

I still love her. That fact is perfectly clear as I sit behind the wheel of my squad and I watch her playing with her son. There's a lump of emotion in my throat as I take in every inch of her. That wavy, light red hair that tumbles past her shoulders in luxurious waves, the creaminess of the skin and the womanly curves that are on display in her denim shorts and her vibrant yellow tank top. Her smile captivates me, and as she collapses down onto her rear in the middle of the yard and her son tosses his arms around her and plunks himself down into her lap, I'm struck by the thought that the scene before me could have been my family.

Had I only gone after what I wanted and who I wanted instead of buckling under pressure.

I sigh and kill the ignition. I can't sit there forever watching her. I'm starting to feel like a stalker, and I'm pretty sure one of the neighbours is going to notice my car sitting there for the last half an hour and call the cops. And the last thing I want is for anything to be ruining this moment. I just want to go over and apologize. I want to tell her that I'm sorry for abandoning her when she needed someone the most. That I regret walking away from her each and every day.

And I want nothing more to than to take her into my arms and to hold her face in my hands as I kiss every inch of her skin softly.

I can help her heal. I'm sure of that. And I know for a fact that she can mend me. From the inside out.

Snagging my keys from the ignition, I take a deep breath and release it slowly before reaching for the handle on my door.

It's now or never.


	2. What Do You Say?

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN BREE-ANNE 'BREEZY', COLLIN AND LUNA**

**A/N: I'VE DECIDED TO SWITCH THINGS UP WITH THIS STORY AND DO CHAPTERS THROUGH DIFFERENT POV'S. **

**A HUGE THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED AND ADDED TO ME ALERTS AND FAVS. **

* * *

**What Do You Say?**

"What do you say in a moment like this?  
When you can't find the words oh to tell it like it is  
Just bite your tongue and let your heart lead the way

Sometimes you got to listen to the silence  
And give yourself a little time to think."  
-What Do You Say?, Reba McEntire

* * *

_**BREE-ANNE'S POV**_

As Collin bounds off of my lap and scurries off in search of yet another toy or another game for us to play, I give a content sigh and stretching my legs out on the grass, lean back on my elbows. Luna the puppy nudges my left thigh with her nose, then plops down beside me, and rolls over onto her back, a clear invitation and a demand to vigorously scratch her eager tummy. I happily oblige, then close my eyes and tip my head back, allowing the brilliant sunshine to bathe my face in warmth.

I spend the entire year waiting impatiently for the summer. Not so much for the weather, but because I can concentrate fully on the things that are most important in my life. Teaching full time leaves me with little time to myself. Or to indulge in my favourite role. As Collin's mommy. When the off months hit, I beg off offers to help out at summer school and live off of the whatever money I've managed to squirrel away throughout the year, and the remainder of the settlement I'd received when I'd finally managed to shed Dean once and for all. He'd had a healthy sum -an inheritance he'd been given when his grandfather had passed away- in his own savings account and my lawyers had procured every cent. Arguing that he didn't exactly need the cash where he was going, especially since he'd been an old, withered man collecting pension when and if he ever saw daylight again. We'd also played the emotional pain and suffering card when Dean's attorney had tried to use adultery against me and paint me as the dirty one.

By that time, news of my extra marital affair had already been made public knowledge at the trial when the defence team had attempted to make Dean less of a scumbag by tossing my mistakes in my face. Of course, it had made things even worse when the counter part in the indiscretion -I'd been adamant on that stand that it had been a bonafide relationship and that to call it anything else was disrespect to both parties- was revealed to be the same cop in charge of the raid my estranged husband stole drugs from. And who'd not only been the head detective investigating the dead paint baller's shooting, but had be the one to help bust Dean in the end. I didn't know the ins and outs of what had exactly gone down, but I'd heard that there'd been drama over the logbook involving the raid and that nailing Dean's thieving, murdering ass had caused a whole lot of hell for some of the people involved.

His lawyers had tried, in vain, to turn the tables and paint me in a bad light. As if turning me into a dirty, two timing slut would make him less of a monster, or at least explain how he'd come unhinged in the first place. Thankfully, the prosecution had drilled home the fact that affair or no affair, I didn't force Dean to steal those drugs and I wasn't the one who had plans to sell them on the street. And I certainly didn't fire the shot that killed Kym Tanaka. Dean was a murderer. Plain and simple. And he was going to spend a long, long time wondering how in the hell he'd screwed up his life so horrifically.

He has no access to my son. How do you explain to a two and a half year old that the man named as his father on his birth certificate -I had decided not to leave the name blank in order to avoid suspicion regarding Collin's parentage- isn't around because he was a selfish prick with total disregard for human life? Although so far, Collin's only asked twice where daddy is and I've decided that the less he knows, the better. I've told him that his father wasn't ready to have a family and that he's gone far, far away. And that hopefully, one day, mommy will find him a step dad that will love him to the ends of the earth.

My baby boy doesn't need to know that I was married to one man but had gotten pregnant by another. And that in order to protect his real birth father, I'd lied on the birth certificate. Just like Dean doesn't need to know the real results to the DNA test I'd had done when Collin was just days old. Thing are better the way they are. With everyone in my life kept in the dark about certain things. Even my parents, who Collin and I live with, don't know the whole truth and believed me when I'd told them that the test had verified that Dean was my baby's I'm pretty sure that my folks -especially my dad, who's notoriously paranoid and suspicious about everyone and everything- question whether or not I'm on the up and up. I mean, it's not common that two brown-eyed people make a blue-eyed baby. Or that someone with light brown hair and another with auburn can have a child with coal black hair. I cite a great grandmother that had had raven hair and the fact that certain genes can skip generations and nail an unsuspecting baby.

"Mom-meeeee!" Collin bellows from the front porch, his voice snapping me out of my reverie. "Mom-meee! Watch dis!"

"What are you doing there, button?" I ask, as I swing my legs around and manoeuvre my body so that I'm facing the house. Collin hurries down the stairs, a yellow tennis ball in one hand and a plastic, child size hockey stick in the other. The Mets cap long gone and lying abandoned by the front door, his black hair shimmers in the sunlight, and his blue eyes are sparkling and the dimple in his left cheek is standing out as he beams at me from across the yard. Four months shy of his third birthday and he's all about hockey. Grandpa's not only decorated his only grandchild's room in black, yellow and white -to represent Collin's 'bestest team' as he calls it- but he's also bought him a NHL comforter set, matching curtains and a bedroom light that is an exact mini replica of the score clock at Madison Square Garden. Collin's even been to a handful of Rangers games. He simply eats, sleeps and breathes the sport.

"Watch dis, mommy!" he cries, and setting the tennis ball down on the grass, curls both hands around the hockey stick and lines up his shot.

I laugh at the sight; his eyes narrowed and his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrates intently. And with a mighty swing, the stick connects with the ball and sends it careening across the grass. Luna takes it as an invitation to play and swiftly jumps up and scampers off, barking noisily. I give Collin a tremendous round of applause and praise his skills while he cocks his head to the side and smiles sheepishly.

That one simple gesture causes my chest to constrict agonizingly, my stomach to knot and tears to form in my eyes. Because it's one of many moments in the past two and a half years where I'm dumbfounded at how much he's like his daddy. And at how much I actually miss and still love the man that helped me create the miracle of life. Who'd I'd loved and lost twice. First as an immature little girl trying to make her way in the world, and then as a terrified grown woman struggling to make sense out of the disaster her life had become.

"Heck of a slap shot," a deep voice observes from behind me. "Gonna be the next Gretzky."

My heart literally stops and my lungs forget to draw breath. I don't need to look over my shoulder to know whose rather intimidating presence is looming over me. It's been three years but his scent is exactly the same; masculine and intoxicating. A smell that I spent many a night drowning in as I lay beside him in a mess of tangled limbs and twisted bed sheets. That I drank in as I rested with my head on his chest, feeling relaxed, completely sated and loved as he combed his fingers through my hair and my own traced lazy patterns over the network of scars that marred his pale skin. And that voice. Assertive and aggressive and able to both calm me down and frighten me at the same time during an argument, and then make me shudder and squirm in pure unbridled desire in passionate moments. A voice that had promised me the world at fourteen and then again at twenty-eight, and then had abruptly vanished from my life, leaving me broken.

I don't need to look to know who it is. But I do need to look so that I'm sure I'm not imagining things. That his voice and his scent aren't a figment of my imagination. A moment of fond recollection brought on by the sharp pang of emotion that my son so often is able to instil inside of me. And when I finally will my chest to commence sucking in air once again and my heart settles itself down, I slowly twist my head to the side and look skyward.

I'm torn on how to react, and I mentally berate myself for not bringing a pair of sunglasses outside with me. So I could use them to hide the tears that are threatening to burst from my eyes and cascade down my cheeks. Part of me -a huge part in fact- wants to simply stand up and throw my arms around him and sob. To allow years of nagging loneliness and want and need to come tumbling out of me. To tell him how much I missed him and how much I loved him and that I knew he'd come for me one day. To admit that I'd never lost hope, even though it's been three years, that he would show up on my doorstep and make good on all of those promises of unwavering, undying love and devotion that he'd made to me. To make him live up to each and every time he'd told me that I was his forever. That we were forever. That he was going to save me and protect me for the rest of my life.

And then there's the devastated, bitter part of me that wants to yell and scream profanities at him. To hurt him just as much as he's hurt me. To make him suffer just as much as I have in the years that has passed. He had abandoned me at a time when I'd needed someone the most. And not just anyone. Him. He'd promised that when things died down, when the scandal and the departmental whisperings regarding our relationship finally settled and Dean was locked away for good, that he'd come for me. That we'd be family. All three of us. He had been ready, willing and able to take care of a child that he believed wasn't his and I'd been counting down the days and minutes until he showed up at my house and took me away from everything. To help me escape.

That time never came. Donald Flack Junior had slipped quietly from my life. He had destroyed me. There were no other words for it. And in between loathing and cursing him one moment and pining for him and loving him the next, I'd always held out the small hope that he'd wake up one day and realize how badly he'd let me down and finally make good on all of his promises.

And now here he was. Standing in the middle of my front yard. Obviously fresh from work with that gleaming badge still clipped to the waist of his black dress pants and his holster and gun sitting on his right hip. There's no sign of a tie or a jacket, but his white dress shirt -with baby blue and yellow stripes- is slightly un-tucked and the sleeves are rolled to his elbows. The top three buttons are undone as well, giving me a sneak peak of the wife beater he wears underneath and the coarse dark hair that I know mats his chest. He's changed, at least physically, in the past three years. Back then he'd been tall and lanky, and now he was all muscle and brute force. His shoulders and chest are wider, his forearms and biceps larger and stronger. Some grey takes up residence in his short, black hair and pair of sunglasses hides those blue eyes that had captured both my attention, and my heart, when I was only fourteen years old.

I've witnessed him go from a skinny, awkward teenager to a confident and powerful man. And I curse both him, and myself, for letting the last three years happen in the first place. Our own stubbornness and turmoil for keeping us apart.

I'm not sure exactly how long I've been sitting in this spot staring up at him, but when Don gives me that charming, boyish smile, I feel all the anxiety and tension quickly evacuate my body. That smile is calming and reassuring, although does little to alleviate the curiosity as to why he's here and the million and one questions that are stampeding through my shell shocked brain.

Don offers one of his large, strong hands. And I'm suddenly hit with a rush of memories of those hands and those fingers and how they felt against my skin. Of him holding my face tenderly in his hands and using his thumbs to clear tears off my cheeks. Of him tracing my lips with a gentle fingertip or his knuckles grazing along my skin as he pushed my hair behind my ears. And I can easily recall how rough his skin is and how wonderful those hands, capable of manhandling a suspect, had felt when they'd explored my body and had brought me to the heights of a pleasure I'd never even known existed before.

Shoving those thoughts aside, I curl my fingers around his and leaning down, he uses his other hand to softly cup my elbow, then hoists me up onto my feet.

We stand there in silence for what seems like an eternity. My fingers still clasping his tightly and my free hand shielding my eyes from the sun as I look up at him. I'm unsure of what to say. Of how to act. But for those long, quiet moments, it feels as if nothing ever changed.

And as if we're the only two people that exist in the world.

"Hey," he finally says.

"Hey," I somehow manage in return. All my resolve crumbles right there and then, and I can't stop the sob that escapes from my mouth of the tears that burst from my eyes. Three long years of wondering and hoping have finally come to an end. He's here. Right in front of me. And nothing else matters. "Donnie..." I choke out, and feel my body propel forward and my head find his chest.

I feel him stiffen. A clear indication that I've gone too far in my exuberance and relief of seeing him. I've obviously made the huge mistake of putting all of my eggs in one basket. While I've taken his return as a sign of repentance, renewal and rediscovery, Don is apparently here for a very different reason.

He hasn't come for me after all.

"I'm sorry," I sniffle, and quickly draw away. "I never should have...I'm sorry...I..."

Those big, strong arms envelope me, and I'm pulled back into his chest. As Don's left hand settles on the small of my back and his right rests on my head and commences stroking my hair, I close my eyes and lose myself in him. In that wonderful, alluring smell, in the warmth of his body and tenderness of his caresses.

And I'm easily transported back three years ago, when he held me for the very last time on the front porch of the house we now stand in front of. We had stayed there, under the dim sheen cast by the front porch light, for what seemed like hours. Clinging to each other as if we were one another afloat, and terrified that some unseen force was going to tear us apart. Lost in a moment of confusing and uncertainty. Would we ever find our way back to one another? Would we ever feel each other's touch and taste each other's mouths again?

That night remains riveted in my memory. I can still remember what his heart had sounded like as it beat in his chest, and it seemed so much more thunderous than the rain that hammered down and pattered on the tin roof that covers the porch. And I can still feel him pull away slowly and take my face in his hands and press his lips against mine.

I can still taste his kiss. And I still miss it.

"It's okay," Don whispers, and I feel the weight of his chin as it rests on the top of my head. "I'm here now...I've got you...I'm here Breezy."

The use of that nickname causes me to break down once again. Don's the only one who's ever called me that, and in college I'd had it tattooed -across my right side, just below my breast- in flowing black letters. In the longest, most difficult nights of despair. it had helped to lift my shirt and look in the mirror and see that term of affection permanently inked into my skin.

* * *

"Mommy?" A tiny voice -curious and concerned- reminds me that Don and I aren't alone. That there's other hearts involved here, besides our own. And I'm suddenly terrified that my three year secret is about to be exposed. That despite my reasoning's and best of intentions, I'm about to break Donnie's heart. He's the love of my life, and as amazing as it is to have him here, the fact remains that I do have a life. I have gone on. No matter how pathetic the attempt and the results have been.

There's no possible way to spirit Collin away and hide my demons. I've gone three years not only protecting my secret and my heart, but keeping my son away from his birth father. And suddenly, my reasons for doing so seem groundless and I hate myself for what I've done.

I pull away from Don and look up at him. I know he senses my nervousness and feels my fright. He's probably the one person who knows me better than I know myself, and he's always been able to expertly read my body language. The way my eyes shift, the way I chew on my bottom lip.

"Breezy..." he combs his fingers through my hair, then lets his fingertips trail along my cheek and drift across my lips. "What's wrong? Why do you look so scared? I know you're freaked 'cause I just showed up out of nowhere, but.."

I'm unaware of when exactly my hands had settled on his sides, but I remove them and reach out to lay a hand on the back of Collin's head. And as I step backwards, I gently draw the toddler in between us.

"Donnie..." my voice trembles in time with my hands. "This is your...this is..."

"Hi!" Collin chirps, and tilts his head so far back to look up at the tall, big man before him that I'm afraid he'll topple over backwards. "I'm Collin Alexander Truby," he announces, and the way he speaks causes the last name to sound like Two-bee. "I'm two and a half," he adds as an afterthought.

I glance up at Don, anxiously awaiting his reaction. I watch as his shoulders visibly tense and he shuffles backwards several steps. His hands slide from their resting places alongside of my face and on my back.

_Say something,_ I silently plead. _Anything. Just don't stand there..._

He slowly removes his sunglasses. There's confusion and hurt written all over his face and evident in his eyes, as he looks from Collin, to me, then back down at my son, _Our_ son, as he stands between us. A twenty-five pound, three foot barrier that must seem, in Don's perplexed and shocked state, like a gigantic, unmovable object. His hands fiddle with the arms of his shades as his eyes lock on mine once more. Then his mouth opens and I brace myself for what just may be a vicious onslaught.

"Are you a real peas-man?" Collin asks curiously, a tiny finger reaching out to inspect the badge clipped to this stranger's waist.

Don's attention snaps away from me and focuses on the toddler at his feet. "A what?" he asks, obviously unable to form a coherent thought of sentence.

"A peas-man," Collin repeats. "Is dat real?" he asks, as he fiddles with the small, golden shield.

"Uh...yeah...yeah...it's real..." Don finally responds.

"Your gun too?" Collin inquires. "Is dat real too?"

Don nods. "I'm a real policeman," he confirms.

"Mommy says that guns are bad," the toddler says. "Is dat true?"

"Bad people make guns bad," Don tells him. "I'm not a bad guy so my gun's not bad either."

"If you're a peas-man, where's your peas-car?" Collin asks, as he looks up and down the street. "I love peas-cars. I love the flashing lights and the...you know...the who-who..." he mimics the sounds of a siren and twirls a finger in the air to represent the lights.

"The siren," Don says.

"Yeah! Dat's it!" the little boy cries, then looks one way, then the other once more. "How can you be a peas-man with no peas-car?"

"I'm a special policeman," Don explains, then unclips his badge offers it to our now wide-eyed child. "I have a special car. So that the bad guys don't know when I'm coming for them."

"What kind of special peas-man?" Collin inquires, awe in his voice and on his face as he cradles the badge gently in the palm of one hand as the fingers of the other delicately inspects every nook and cranny.

"A detective," Don replies. "It means that when the bad guys do bad things, I find clues that help me catch them. I put all the pieces together and they tell me who the person is and where I can find them."

"You mean like a puzzle?" Collin asks. "I love puzzles! I have a Lion King puzzle in my room. Mommy helps me put it together all da time. Maybe you can help me seein' as put them together lots. Wanna come see my room?"

"Maybe some other time," Don replies gently. "How old are you?" he asks. "'Cause you are way too smart for only two and a half."

"I'm almost tree!" Colin cries excitedly, and holds up three fingers. "Grandpa says I'm a pint size genius!"

"Guess you get your brains from your mom then," Don concludes, and his stares at me intently. There's a lot of questions in his eyes. Mixed in with confusion, hurt and accusations.

"What's your name?" Collin asks. "What's your name Mister Peas-man?"

"This is Don," I speak up. "He's your...he's..." I struggle for the right words. It's way too soon to be introducing father and son to each other. At least in the verbal sense. Now is not the time to be bestowing titles on anyone. "He's a very, very, very good friend of mommy's," I finish, and smile at Don. Relief surges through me when he returns it with one of his own.

"Do you like dogs?" Collin asks, as he tugs on Don's pant leg to get his attention.

His father nods.

"You wanna go and see my puppy?" the toddler asks hopefully, as he points towards the front porch where Luna is sprawled at the bottom of the stairs, chewing the tennis ball to death. "Her name is Luna. She's just a baby. She likes to nibble on my toes!" Collin giggles at that. "You wanna come see her?" he inquires once more, this time offering a hand.

Don flashes me another smile, and then looks down at my little boy. _His _little boy. "I'd love to come and see your puppy," he says, and curls his large fingers around Collin's tiny hand, swallowing it whole.

And as I watch as father and son head off together, my heart aches. Both for all of the precious years that have been lost, and for the uncertainty of those that lay ahead.

* * *

**I just want to thank everyone who is reading and reviewing, and even those who are just lurking! I appreciate all of the support and your willingness to try something new of mine!!**

**Huge thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

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**Soccer-Bitch**

**Raisin Cookies**

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**Night-star 93**

**Madhatterette**

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**XSamiliciousx**

**EmSyd**

**wolfeylady**

**Woodland Flower**

**Babygurl1944**


	3. Little Guy

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN COLLIN, BREE-ANNE (BREEZY) AND ANY OTHER OC.**

**THERE'S A PIC UP OF BREEZY ON MY PROFILE IF Y'ALL ARE INTERESTED! SHE'S BASED ON ACTRESS SHENAE GRIMES. BREEZY'S BOYFRIEND IS BASED ON ACTOR JEREMY PIVEN. **

* * *

**Little Guy**

"'Cause I'm gonna be the best dad that I can,  
I'll take you by those little hands.  
And when you stumble, I'll pick you right up.  
I'll be your number one fan.  
And watch you grow into a man.  
Now I'm a laugh with you, cry with you, and let my love surround you.  
And I'm a dance with you pray for you and wrap my arms around you when you cry,  
Little guy."  
-Little Guy, Gord Bamford

* * *

**_FLACK'S POV_**

Saying I'm floored is the understatement of the century.

I had come here, to this house on this day, to search for an absolution. To attempt to make amends for wronging the one person in my life that I've ever loved. A love that had knocked me on my ass for the first time at fourteen and had broken my heart at the close of my eighteenth summer. That had returned with a vicious, startling vengeance over four years ago when Breezy had walked through those precinct doors looking for her then boyfriend. We'd been kids our first go around. I'd been a slightly awkward, cocky, foul-mouthed jock and she'd been the soft spoken, sweet and giggly daughter of a born again Christian and his ultra-strict, straight-laced Catholic wife. Her folks were an odd combination to say the least. Her dad, a former oil rigger who was, at least back then, built like a brickshit house and looked more than capable of snapping someone's neck with just his baby finger, had found God again after a car accident had left him bed ridden for several months. Breezy's mom had been one volunteering at the rehab place he'd been discharged to. Fourteen years his junior and just barely into nursing school, he'd gotten a kick out of embarrassing the hell out of her by calling her all sorts of pet names and complimenting her -both gentlemanly and scandalously- about her pretty red hair and that 'tight little body'. Fresh out of an all girls school, she'd been horrifically shy and 'unworldly' when it came to members of the opposite sex outside of her bible-thumping father and her six overly protective older brothers. Frank Douglas had been her first foray into dealing with the male species, and in between his sailor mouth and his sexual innuendos, had somehow managed to land her. Hook, line and sinker.

By the time he was let out of the rehab place, they were making plans to get married. Breezy's oldest brother Shayne had arrived just five months after the wedding -what a scandal that had been apparently, the Catholic girl having pre-marital sex and getting knocked up before the big day- and her mom had taken a year off of school before continuing with her studies. Five other boys arrived in quick succession after her graduation: Andrew, Joseph, William, Geoff and Duncan. Breezy had been a change of life baby. The youngest boy had been pushing thirteen and her mom closing in on forty-seven when the only girl in the family had come along. She'd been a complete and utter surprise. After over a decade of trying for a final baby, Breezy's parents had figured with no results that God had decided another kid just wasn't in their cards. Imagine their surprise, and their elation to find out that she wasn't only pregnant, but discovered in the delivery room that after six boys, they'd been graced with a beautiful baby girl. They'd been so certain that they would have another boy, that they hadn't bothered to pick any feminine names out, and it had taken them nearly two weeks to bestow the name of Bree-Anne -"Not Bree," as she had always corrected people, "Bree-Anne, full name, hence the hyphen"- on their tiny, precious red headed daughter.

I'd been told that story at least a million times in the four years that Breezy and I had dated. I'd been welcomed with open, if not a little leery and paranoid- arms into her family. By the time I'd come into her life, all of her brothers were already out of the house, married with families of their own, and it was just Breezy and her mom and dad. After her dad had gotten over the initial shock that his introverted and mildly geeky baby girl actually had a boyfriend -a popular one at that - and after he'd given me, all of fourteen years old, the talk about breaking every bone in my body if I ever hurt her, I'd been ushered into their lives as if I was flesh and blood. I guess her mom and dad had liked me because of my own Catholic upbringing and the fact that my dad was a 'tough as nails, take no shit NYPD legend' and my mom was, for the most part, a God fearing, loyal and obedient house wife happy with staying home and taking care of her husband and kids. It didn't hurt either that I was into sports. Breezy's dad had always been a massive Rangers and Mets fan and we spent many a nights in the four years I'd dated his daughter watching games on the television in the basement while Breezy and her mom did girl stuff upstairs. They didn't seem to care that I wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed; after all, their daughter had enough brains for the both of us. All that mattered to them was that I treated her good and I adored her. Wholly and completely.

After we'd broken up and she'd gone away for school, I'd attempted to stay in contact with her parents. Only life has a way of throwing some serious curve balls and being a huge burden, and I'd been so focused on graduating from the academy and making a name for myself in the department, that the years had easily slipped by without contact between us. And the next time I'd seen Breezy's parents had been at Dean's trial. Throughout the entire year that we'd been seeing each other -it went far beyond sleeping together and I refused to dumb it down by calling it an affair- we'd kept things on the down low. She'd been terrified about leaving Dean and asking for a divorce. Not just because of his penchant for unleashing psychological abuse, but because of her Catholic upbringing and the uproar she'd cause within her family. I'd tried many times to gently explain to her that as far as her religion went, she'd already committed one sin by getting that deeply involved with me in the first place. She'd argued that that was something completely different. That she was in love with me. We were in love with each other. And that we had a right to be together. It was just finding the time to make that happen.

I'd backed off after that. I'd given her the time and space she needed to tell her parents and Dean about us. I won't lie and say that I wasn't growing impatient. Hell, three weeks into our relationship I'd been ready to sit beside her and hold her hand while she told all three of them. By six months into it, I'd already started making plans for us. I'd bought an engagement ring and starting thinking about how I was going to propose. I'd wanted something huge and memorable. Breezy deserved something incredible. And I'd started putting some money aside, a nest egg if you will that we could use to start a life together. A million and one thoughts about the future had been swirling through me. I wanted a house in a nice neighbourhood in Queens. Close to where we both grew up. I wanted her as my wife and the mother of my kids. Breezy had been my forever. I'd let her get away when I was eighteen and I sure as hell wasn't going to let that happen again.

And then Dean had gone and fucked it all up. Maybe it was God's divine retribution on Breezy and I. Maybe the big guy upstairs had decided that we needed to be punished for carrying on like we had been. For not just shitting or getting off the pot. Maybe He'd even decided to toss the whole Dean thing at us as a test. To see if we were strong together to weather any storm.

Apparently, we hadn't been.

I blame myself for that. I'd been the one that had taken her to her parents and had told her that I'd be back for her when things had died down. I'd expected it to be a few weeks at the most. That it wouldn't take that long for the fervour within the department and the dissention in the precinct to settle down. I'd been labelled Public Enemy Number One for giving Mac my logbook and the guys around work had been revelling in making my life a living hell. I was a rat, as far as they were concerned, a poor excuse for a cop and a bitter failure to my dad's legacy, and other cops made it their lives work to remind me of it each and every day. I knew that if word of Breezy and I got out, that the nastiness would be focused on her. I was worried about people calling her on the phone or even showing up at her folks' and harassing her. Breezy didn't deserve that and it had been my job to protect her. I'd caused the upheaval in her life to begin with, and keeping her safe and sheltered from it was my main priority.

Unfortunately, somewhere along the line, protecting her had become an obsession and it had surpassed the fact that I was in love with her and wanted to be with her. Soon the weeks had become a few months and a few months had become half a year, and suddenly I was standing face to face with her in a quiet, secluded back hallway in the courthouse before she was set to take the stand. She'd been terrified at the thought of testifying, and angry and hurt that I hadn't come for her like I said I would. I'd been apologetic, and completely stunned that there she was, as beautiful and alluring as ever, and very much pregnant.

I'd told her that she should have told me, that I had deserved to know that she was having my baby. It never occurred to me that it could have been Dean's, even though I'd known full well that to prevent him from knowing about us, she would have had to carry on a 'normal' married relationship with him. And then I'd made the biggest fuck up of my entire life. Without giving her the chance to defend herself, I'd commented that I was the type of guy who took responsibility for my mistakes.

Breezy's eyes had filled with tears and her lower lip had wobbled, and before I managed to apologize for being an insensitive ass, she'd swatted my comforting hand off of her shoulder and hissed, "Don't worry about it Donald. Because it's someone else's mistake."

That had been the last time I'd ever been face to face with her. I'd been in the courtroom, sitting with her mom and dad when the defence had ripped into her the 'illicit affair' that she'd been having behind her husband's back. I'm not sure exactly how the scumbag had found out about what had been going on, but I'd wanted to beat the living shit out of him when he'd sat there at the defence table, a pompous smirk on his face when she'd dissolved into tears on the stand and admitted to the allegations. She'd fought long and hard with them when it came to naming names. She'd been adamant that she wasn't going to deny, or admit, that it had been me that she'd been fooling around with. But a threat of being tossed into jail for contempt of court had scared her enough to finally agree with them that it had been me. It had been difficult as hell to see her like that and have our dirty laundry exposed like that. And I am sure if must have broken her parents. When I'd tried to talk to her outside of the courtroom after a recess had been ordered to give her time to compose herself, her father had quickly wrapped both of his massive arms around her and quickly escorted her away.

"It's not the time Don," her mother had said, as she dabbed her tears and looked apologetic. "I know you love each other and I know this is hard...but it's just not the time...I don't know when it will be the time."

I'd left the courthouse that day a broken and dejected man. I'd spent many a sleepless night and long, tiring day waiting for Breezy to get a hold of me. I checked my email inbox what seemed like a million times a day and constantly checked my voice mail for every number in my possession. For months my wondering and my worrying continued. And my love for her never abated. I knew that if she had called me and told me she was ready to see me, for us to be together, that I would have dropped everything to go and get her. But that call never came. Instead, three months after the trial I ended up getting a short, straight to the point voice mail from her father saying that Breezy had had the baby. A little boy that she had decided to name Collin. He hadn't given me any more information than that. And I'd never heard from any of them after that either.

And now...now I'm suddenly face to face with the fact that I haven't only wasted three years of both of our lives by not swallowing my damn pride and just coming to this very house and claiming her as mine, but I've wasted two and a half years of Collin's as well. As soon as I'd looked down at him, I'd known. The kid hadn't needed to open his mouth and say a damn word. I knew he was mine the second I saw that black hair tucked under that ball cap and those huge, curious blue eyes staring up at me and his mommy. I would have had to be a complete moron to not realize that he was mine. That Breezy and I had created him together, out of love and respect and everything that was good and pure that existed between us. And I hate myself for not pushing the issue on his parentage when she was pregnant, for not forcing my way back into her life. For once, being selfish and self-centered would have paid off in spades. I would have not only had her back in my life, but I would have been there when my son was born. When he learned to sit up, crawl, took his first steps. I would have been there for his birthdays and his Christmases. I would have been helping Breezy with diaper changes and night-time feedings. Instead of being completely oblivious to the life I was missing out on while I got on with things only half an hour away in lower Manhattan.

* * *

There are umpteen emotions surging through me at the moment. I'm pissed off and disgusted with myself that I never made good on my promises. I'm stunned that this all been tossed on me so suddenly, and angry and hurt that Breezy never bothered to get in touch with me and let me know that we have a little boy together. I'm not exactly sure what to say, or how to act. All I know is that I need some time to process this all. A moment to gather myself and come to terms with the fact that this is actually real. That that little boy sitting next to me on the bottom step of the house I'd been welcome into years ago, belongs to me. Oblivious to it all, Collin sucks happily on a cherry flavoured freezie his mom had gone into the house procured for him just minutes earlier, as Luna the puppy sprawls at our feet.

Breezy lingers several feet away, tears in her eyes as she chews nervously on her bottom lip. I know how badly she wants to talk about this. How desperate she is to explain why she's kept him from me all these years, and while I want to hear everything that she has to say, I'm grateful that she's giving me time and space to not only deal with the blow, but to just sit there and begin the long road of father/son bonding. I reach out and gently comb my hand through Collin's hair. It's jet black and silky against my skin and slips easily through my fingers.

Collin cocks his head to the side and looks up at me. His lips are stained red from the frozen treat in his hand and there's juice trickling down his chin. And he gives me a brilliant smile that crinkles his nose and makes his eyes sparkle and the dimple in his left cheek to stand out.

Breezy coughs noisily, and I look up to see her turning abruptly on her heel, arms crossed over her chest as she flees in the direction of the side of the house. I easily catch sight of the tears spilling down her cheeks; the scene before her is obviously too much to take. I'm sure she has her own fears, hurt and reservations surging through her mind at this point in time. And as much as I want to go after her, to take her in my arms and kiss those tears away and assure her that while it's going to take a while, things are going to be okay, I've got something more important on my plate at the moment.

"Do you have kids?" Collin asks curiously, oblivious to his mother's emotional state.

I shake my head.

"Why don't you have kids?" he inquires, slurping noisily at the freezie.

"I guess I just haven't met the right person to have kids with," I reply.

"Do you want to be a daddy?"

I nod. I honestly have no idea what the hell to say to a question like that. Part of me feels like a shit for lying to him. For not just nailing him with the truth that I'm his father. That he's my kid. And yet there's another part of me that is telling me that it's not the time for that. That it's not even my place to say it. And I don't want to make things rocky between Breezy and I before things get off the ground between us.

If they ever even do.

"Some day," I tell the little boy beside me. "Some day I'd love to be a daddy."

"My daddy is far, far, far away," Collin says.

I look down at him, all excitement and exuberance over a twenty-five cent freezie. Not bothered in the slightest that there's red juice trickling both his chin and hands and dripping onto his bare feet and the cement step below us. I wonder if he knows anything about Dean. Even the smallest bit of information. For reasons I can't quite fathom, despite being divorced from the asshole, Breezy's kept Truby as Collin's last name. And while I can't quite believe that she'd ever take her son...our son...to a maximum-security prison to visit the man she's been passing off as Collin's dad, I have heard stranger things.

"Mommy says that he wasn't ready to be a daddy and that he went away," Collin continues, as he licks the fingers of his left hand. "She says that he's on vatation. And that he's never coming back."

Those words hit me square in the chest. Because they confirm me to me that Breezy had never had any intention of ever telling me about Collin. That she was going to go the rest of her life, and the rest of his, pretending as if Dean Truby had fathered him. If I hadn't had shown up today, hell bent on repenting for fucking her over, I might never have known that her son was actually mine. And there's a small part of me that is slightly humoured by Collin's words as well. Or at least what Breezy has told him. The whole, 'your dad's on vacation' part of her spiel, she's taken from Forrest Gump. One of her favourite movies.

"Maybe one day your daddy will come back for you," I tell him. "Maybe when he realizes what a bad thing he did by not staying with you and your mom...." I have to stop as raw emotion chokes at me and constricts my chest. "...well maybe one day, when you least expect it, your daddy will come for you."

"Maybe..." Collin agrees, then giggles as Luna the puppy scampers over and licks cherry flavoured juice off of his toes. "I hope that when my daddy comes he'll bring me a hockey shirt."

"You mean like one that the players wear?" I ask, grateful that he's changed the subject.

"Yeah...." he nods enthusiastically. "Just like it. Mommy says I'm too little but..." he looks towards the side of the house, and when he's certain his mom isn't listening, leans in close to me. "...but I really, really, really want one."

I can't hold back a grin. "You really like hockey, huh?"

"I love hockey!" Collin exclaims. "Do you like hockey?"

I nod. "I'm a major hockey fan," I tell him. "The Rangers are my favourite team."

"Yuck!" Collin grimaces. "Grampie likes them too. And so does Phil."

"Who's Phil?" I ask curiously, although I'm slightly dreading the answer.

"That's mommy's boyfriend," my son replies. "He's a sports agent. He works with Eli Manning. Do you know who that is?"

I nod. And cringe inwardly at the thought of Breezy having a boyfriend. I honestly don't know what I expect. It seems a little unfair, yet entirely reasonable at the same time, to think that she hasn't gone on with her life after me.

"Do you like him?" I ask, trying to get a feel of the situation.

"He's a jerk!" Collin exclaims, and I can't help but laugh. "He's mean to mommy. He talks mean to her. It makes me mad. I don't like when he does that."

"Is he nice to you?" I inquire. If Collin gives me the wrong answer, I'm seriously hunting this Phil asshole down.

"He calls me names," Collin admits. "He says that I'm a brat 'cause I always want to be around mommy. I told him off once. The F word."

I stare down at my son. Unsure if I should thank him, praise him, or scold him.

"You know what my favourite team is?" Collin asks, once again easily changing the subject.

I shake my head.

"The Pittsburgh Penguins!" he exclaims. "I love them! They're cool! I want to be Sidney Crosby when I grow up! He's awesome. Mommy says he's cute and has a nice butt!"

I chuckle. Remembering how Breezy once said the same thing about me when I played hockey. "Is that whose jersey you want?" I ask. "Sidney Crosby?" The wheels are already spinning in my head. I know the Penguins are playing the Rangers in my team's home opener. And if I bring along my badge and play the good cop part under the ruse I need something autographed for a charity event...

The sound of a car door slamming in front of the house draws my attention away from Collin to the male figure in an expensive black suit, highly polished shoes and a crisp white shirt and brightly patterned tie, that's striding around the front end of gleaming, gun metal grey Lexus convertible. A pair of designer shades on his eyes, a briefcase in hand, a BlackBerry pressed to his ear. I can only guess that this is the one and only Phil.

"I am telling you right now that that sonofabitch better get back to me ASAP!" he barks into his cell phone. "I am not fucking around here! It's time he cuts loose from momma's apron strings and becomes a fucking man! He's playing with the big boys now and this big boy doesn't fuck around!"

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Breezy come rushing from the side of the house and try to intercept him. I know what she's doing. Trying to give me and Collin as much time as possible. And it makes me sick to my stomach the way this jackass just gives her a brief once over, a quick kiss to the cheek and then scolds as if she's a little kid her for wearing 'bummy clothes'.

"I'm a little busy here," he tells her, as she tugs on his hand in an attempt to lead him away from the front of the house where Collin and I are having our moment. "Hang on, Jimmy..." with a roll of his eyes, he clamps his hand over his phone. "What the hell is so important, Bree-Anne?" he asks. "I am this fucking close to signing that pansy ass momma's boy from Notre Dame. What is so important that you..." And before she can respond, he spots me, a complete stranger, sitting on the bottom step with his girlfriend's son. "I'll call you back," he barks into his phone, and abruptly hangs up. "Can I help you?" he directs the question at me, shoving his BlackBerry into his pocket as he stomps across the grass.

I see Collin tense, obviously upset both by Phil's mere presence, and his brash behaviour. I smooth my son's hair down and stand up. Pleased by the way that Breezy's boyfriend's eyes widen in surprise as he catches sight of my badge and gun.

"What's going on, Bree-Anne?" Phil looks her, then wraps a possessive arm around her waist and yanks her tight into his side. "Why are the police here?"

"Donnie's my friend," Collin pipes up, as he gets to his feet and sidling up beside me, reaches out to curl his sticky hand around three of my fingers.

Phil looks at the toddler, then at me. I can almost hear the gears turning in his head as he puts the pieces together. The same black hair, the same blue eyes, the same dimple in the same cheek. I'm not sure exactly what Breezy has told this ass about her relationship with Dean. Or if she's filled him on the history she has with me. But his brain is definitely working overtime right about now.

"Phil, this is Don. Don Flack. An old friend of mine," Breezy diplomatically introduces us. "Donnie...this is Phil Harris, my...."

"Boyfriend," Collin finishes with a roll of his eyes.

"The Don Flack?" Phil asks Breezy, as he ignores the hand I've offered. "The one from way back when you were in high school? And the one you messed around with a few years back?" he looks at me now. "That was all over the papers you know."

I just smirk. I can honestly envision myself punching him in the face in the near future.

"The one that gave her that stupid nickname?" Phil continues. "That she ruined her body by tattooing it onto her?"

I look at Breezy, who she draws a line underneath her right breast indicating where said tattoo is located.

"So did you just decide to stop by after a long day of arresting percs?" Phil asks, and I smirk once again.

"It's perps, actually," I correct. "And yeah...that's exactly what I did. I thought it would be nice to see Breezy again. It's been a long time."

"Too long," she confirms, and gives me a soft smile.

"But..." I give a sigh. "It has been a long day of catching bad guys and I should get going." I crouch down in front of Collin and lay my hands on his shoulders. "I'll see what I can do about that Crosby jersey," I whisper, and he beams.

"You'll come back and see me?" he asks hopefully.

"I'll come back a lot and see you," I reply, and run my hand over his hair. Afraid that if I walk away from him now, I'll never see him again.

"Promise?" Collin asks. "Promise you'll come back lots Donnie?"

"I promise," I say, and lean down to drop a kiss on the top of his head.

"I'll walk you to your car," Breezy offers, and as I step alongside of her, she curls her arm around my bicep, leading me away. As if she knows that if Phil says one more word, I'm knocking him out.

We journey silently across the grass and sidewalk, then wait for traffic to clear before heading across the street to where my squad is parked.

"Guy seems like a winner," I comment, and fish my keys out of my pants.

"He has his moments," Breezy says.

"Who you trying to convince?" I ask, as I unlock my door. "Yourself or me?"

She sighs. "Donnie..." she begins. "We need to...."

"Talk?" I finish for her, and pop open my door. "I think that's an understatement right there."

"God...." she gives a tortured groan and raking both her hands through her hair, clasps the sides of her face as she shakes her head. "This is all just so surreal...all of this...you just showing up after three years and the whole thing with Collin and Phil and his bullshit...I just...my mind can't wrap itself around it all right now..."

"I understand Breezy," I tell her. Although little makes sense right now to be honest. "It's a lot to deal with."

"And there's so much I want to say to you," she continues. "So much I need to tell you. So many reasons and explanations and...."

I silence her by placing a soft kiss to her forehead. "We'll talk, okay?" I take her chin between my thumb and forefinger and give it an affectionate pinch. "We'll get together and talk. Soon."

She gives a shaky smile.

"I'm still at the twelfth precinct," I tell her, and reaching into my back pocket, pull out my wallet. Flipping it open, I remove one of my business cards and hold it out to her. "And you can always call my parents to get my home number."

She nods, then accepts the card from me. "Why did you come here?" she asks curiously. "After so long why did you just show up? Why now, Donnie?"

"We'll talk about that too," I promise, and fight the urge to grab her and kiss her senseless. "You better go," I say, and nod towards the house. "Collin needs his mommy."

"He needs his daddy too," she responds sadly, then stands on her tiptoes and presses a kiss to my cheek. "I'm so sorry Donnie," she whispers, near tears once again. Then she reaches out and up and tightens and straightens my tie and smoothes down the front of my shirt before making a hasty retreat back to her house.

I sigh heavily and watch as she crosses the street. I don't know how long it's going to take before things are okay between us. Or if we'll ever be a family in the normal sense of the word.

But one thing I do know?

She's already walked out of my life twice.

There's not going to be a third time.

* * *

**I just want to extend a massive thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and adding me to alerts and faves. I am overwhelmed by the response to the first two chapters and I truly appreciate all of your support! **

**Special thanks to: **

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	4. Pictures of You

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. **

**HUGE THANKS TO EVERYONE THAT IS ADDING ME AND THIS STORY TO THEIR ALERTS AND FAVES.**

**AND FOR THOSE ENTOURAGE FANS OUT THERE, PHIL IS BASED ON ACTOR JEREMY PIVEN AND HIS CHARACTER, ARI GOLD**

* * *

**Pictures of you**

"Pictures of you  
Pictures of me  
Hung up on your wall for the world to see

Pictures of you  
Pictures of me  
Remind us all of what we used to be."  
-Pictures of You, The Last Goodnight

* * *

_**Bree-Anne's POV**_

It takes all of my strength and will power to simply put one foot in front of the other. Both my throat and chest constrict; threatening to cut off all air as I struggle to juggle the immense emotion that seems determined to bring me to my knees. The pavement below quickly turns into a swirling black mess as hot tears blur my vision, and the thudding of my heart is deafening, muting all surrounding noise. I am barely aware of a car ignition roaring to life behind me and the sound of tires on cement, or Phil's assertive voice as he shouts orders into his cell phone, conducting business in between demanding that Collin keep his 'grimy hands' away from him and telling him that 'children should be seen and not heard'. I feel as if my body is on autopilot. Nothing computing or making sense as it instinctively propels itself forward. I hold on to that business card as if it's my lifeline. At this point in time, it's the only thing that's keeping me from falling apart. Because that card, and the name printed on it, represents everything I've spent the last three years praying and hoping for. And as I glance over my shoulder and watch as that unmarked squad car slowly makes it way down the street and disappears around the corner, I feel the sudden compulsion to both chase after it and to sit down in the middle of the sidewalk I now stand on, curl my arms around my knees as I bring them to my chest, and break down at what seems like an insurmountable loss. I'm terrified that that unexpected and shocking visit would also be the last. That by not going after Don, I've made the same mistake I did three years ago. And it takes all I have to have faith in him. He's abandoned me once before; I don't think I could take that again.

And suddenly I'm nearly crippled by fear. A thousand pound weight settles on my chest and iron fists close around my lungs. The ability to breathe abandons me and sharp pain hits me square in the heart. So intense that it doubles me over and sends the tears cascading down my cheeks. As I violent tremble from head to toe, I clutch at my chest and struggle to draw air into my body. The result nothing more than loud, desperate gasps mixed in with my terrified, anguished sobs. A sound so appalling and frightening, that I hear Collin cry out my name, followed by the patter of his feet that he rushes to my aid.

"Mommy!" he screams, and I feel little hands pushing my hair out of my face. "Mommy! Are you o'tay? What's wrong? Are you sick? Mommy!"

I shake my head and reach out to lay a hand on one of his tiny shoulders. I can't get enough air to even form a proper response, but I manage to lift my head up far enough to look at him. There's terror in his bright blue eyes and he's near tears, and I know that I need to get a grip. I need to fight my way through the shock and the panic and compose myself. Not for myself, but for that little boy that relies so heavily on me.

"Mommeeee...." he sobs. "What's wrong mommeee?"

I force myself down into a sit right there in the middle of the sidewalk. Not caring who the hell sees me there or what they think as I drop my chin to my chest and place my face in my hands, forcing myself to take deep, even breaths and release them slowly. My lungs burn from the simple task and my head spins, and while I will my heart to cease its relentless pounding and silently plead with my body to calm down, Collin stands nervously beside me, sniffling noisily and wiping his nose with the back of his sticky and dirty hand.

"Mommy?" he asks fearfully, and once again pushes my hair away behind my ears and off my shoulders.

I wait until breathing becomes easier and my heart settles down and the weight begins to lift off of my chest, then I remove my face from hands and give him a brave, reassuring, albeit shaky smile.

"I'm fine now Button," I say, and his hands clear the tears off my cheeks. "Mommy just got upset. She's okay now."

"Why you get upset?" he inquires. "Why you get upset mommy? Are you sick?"

I shake my head, then reach up to cup his tiny, sticky face in my hands and drawing him down towards me, press a kiss to his forehead. "I'm fine," I assure him, and he gallantly offers one of his small hands in order to help me up off the ground. "Why thank you sir," I say, causing him to giggle, and then curl my fingers around his and use my other hand to push myself up off the sidewalk.

Before I can even get to my feet, Phil is beside me, his face flushed from embarrassment and anger furrowing his brow. I'm about to make a smart ass comment about how nice it was that he rushed to my aid so quickly, when he reaches down to wrap a large hand around my bicep and yanks me unceremoniously to my feet.

"For Christsakes, Bree-Anne!" he hisses, and yanks me into him. "What the hell is wrong with you? Making yourself look like an ass like that?"

"Mommy's sick," Collin says, quick to defend me.

"Your mother is not sick," Phil glares down at him. "She's overreacting like she does with everything and anything that upsets her in the slightest. There's nothing wrong with her. And she wouldn't be upset if she didn't have so many damn secrets she's hiding from everyone. Would you, Bree-Anne?"

"I'm not...."

"And how many times do I have to tell you not to touch me?" Phil asks Collin. "Do you have any clue how expensive this suit is? Quit touching me with those nasty little paws of yours."

"Donnie let me touch him," Collin retorts.

"This is a two thousand dollar suit. Not one that I got on sale for two for ninety nine bucks at a discount store," Phil says snidely. "But I guess you have to settle for less when you're on a city salary."

"Don't talk to him like that!" I snap, and laying my hands on Collin's shoulders, draw him in front of me. "He's a little boy, Phil. He has feelings, you know."

"When I was his age my mother was paddling my ass for talking back to adults like he does. And she certainly didn't let me run the neighbourhood in my bare feet with shit all over my face and hands. Look at him!" Phil gestures to Collin with his cell phone. "He looks like he's homeless! Like he lives somewhere without running water! This isn't a third world country, Bree-Anne. You want the people around here thinking your some neglectful mother spending her time watching soap operas all day? Or worse, smoking crack and tipping back forties? Look at him! And look at you! Do you know what a hair brush is? Or an elastic?" he reaches out and flips my hair off my shoulder. "For fuck sakes, you look like a bag lady. You really have to wear second hand clothes?"

My eyes narrow in anger and I open my mouth to respond, but the shrill ring of my boyfriend's cell phone brings an abrupt end to any and all confrontation.

Phil looks down at his call display and sighs heavily. "What the fuck now?" he mumbles, then twists his head to one side, then the other, cracking his neck noisily. "If that little prick bastard doesn't start cooperating soon, I'm going to Indiana myself and putting a firecracker up his ass."

"Do you mind not using that language in front of Collin?" I ask. "Do you really have to...?"

"Take the kid inside and clean him up," Phil ignores me completely. "And yourself while you're at it. You'd be a beautiful woman if you put some effort into it Bree-Anne. But like that..." he eyes me from head to toe, shakes his head in disdain before pressing the talk button on his cell phone and putting it to his ear. "Talk to me, Eric..." he orders into the phone. "And it better be good unless you want to end up back in the mail room or drinking out of toilets..."

I glare at my boyfriend's back as he turns and begins pacing the front yard while conducting business. Phil has always been brash and abrasive. In a strange way, I think that's what actually attracted me to him in the first place during that chance meeting a seven months ago in the elevator of the same building his lucrative agency and my lawyer's office was located in. I'd been minding my own business, leaving after yet another useless appointment held in an attempts to nail down some financial security for myself and my son, and I'd just stepped onto the elevator when I'd heard the rapid click of dress shoes as they hurried towards the lift.

"Hold that elevator there sweetheart!" a deep voice, dripping with a Bronx accent had called out to me, and I'd quickly slammed my finger down on the open door button and watched as Phil as had rushed into the elevator, his short dark hair mussed, dress shirt slightly un-tucked and his tie loosened. A briefcase in one hand, his phone to his ear with the other. He'd given me a wink in both greeting and thanks, and then we'd retreated to our separate sides of the passenger cab as the elevator made its slow descent.

I'd been -shamefully enough- turned on by the way he barked orders at whoever was on the end of the call and the way his voice commanded both respect and perfection. He was gritty and raw and took no shit nor let anyone walk all over him. It was his way or the highway, plain and simple. And if people didn't like him or the way he handled business, well that was their fucking problem as far as he was concerned. It was a dog eat dog world, he'd explained to me on our first date, when he'd wined me and dined me at the famed Russian Tea Room. Being an agent, especially the head one at his own firm, was a lucrative and nasty business. His cell phone never stopped ringing and he was always on the go.

"To the victors go the spoils," he always said when he nailed a high profile athlete. "Soon I'll be bathing in fucking caviar while the rest of the peons eat out of garbage cans. Stick with me Bree-Anne and you'll never want for anything ever again."

Materialistically speaking, he was right. In the seven months that we'd been together, he'd been showering me with expensive gifts -a new car, designer clothes and elaborate jewellery- and paying for Collin to attend an exclusive private day care on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. If he was going to play daddy, as he called it, there was no way his 'kid' was going to attend some public facility. Image was everything to Phil. He wanted to project the picture of a beautiful, well-adjusted and well-behaved family. An obedient child in a school uniform and a trophy 'wife' to parade around at functions. After the three and a half years that I'd gone through -since the time of Dean's arrest- I had figured I'd deserve to be spoiled and I'd eagerly and willingly accepted the presents. Much to my parents dismay, who both know that I'm some materialistic, high maintenance bitch nor was I raised to value objects in that way. Recently, I've realized that while the things that Phil can provide me with are wonderful, it doesn't make up for the fact that he's emotionally absent. It's a shame, really. Because he's an attractive man and he's smart and witty and when he's not hung up on business he can be sweet and debonair. And it's those moments that keep me hanging on so tightly to him.

That and the fact I can't bear the thought of spending the rest of my life alone.

"Now you listen to me!" Phil bellows into his phone, snapping me out of my reverie. "You tell that little piss ant that if he doesn't sign on the dotted fucking line by nine o'clock tonight, I'll go to the press and leak the news about his bum knee and then no one will want to sign him! He wants to screw around, well then you tell him to get his ass over here and bend over and I'll show him how us bad boys do it!"

I sigh heavily, then bend down to press a kiss to the top of Collin's head. He smiles up at me, his blue eyes sparkling.

His father's eyes.

My chest constricts once again, and it takes all I have to smile down at my son.

"Let's go and have a bath," I say, and gently push him in the direction of the house.

"With bubbles?" Collin asks hopefully.

I nod, and he gives his musical giggle and takes off in a run across the grass. Glancing over at Phil stalking across the yard with one hand holding his phone to his ear and the other planted firmly on his left hip, I wonder if he'll ever be able to give me exactly what I need. The feelings of love and emotionally and physical security. If the day will come when he'll realize that I'm just not something he can parade around and show off. That there's more to me than what he's seeing.

I look down at the business card still clutched in my hand, and my thumb traces slowly over the name that's printed on the front. My mind goes back to all of those promises of forever. Of being a fourteen-year-old girl falling hopelessly and madly in love for the first time. Then of a woman just shy of her thirtieth birthday rediscovering that love once again and revelling in the maturity and the intensity of so much more.

I don't know if that will happen ever happen again. Between Don and I. There's a lot of obstacles standing in the way this time. And it's not something that can just happen overnight. He can't just walk into my life after three years and expect things to go back to the way they were. And I can't expect that to happen either. Things like that talk time to build and develop and we need to....

I close my eyes briefly and force all thoughts of a future with Don out of my mind. It's never going to happen. Too much has happened, too much has changed. We've changed.

I'm only fooling myself, I conclude, then tuck the business card into the back pocket of my capris before I continue towards the house.

* * *

An hour and a half later, as Collin -worn out from both his bath, his time out in the sun and the excitement of meeting a new friend- naps on the floor of the living room in his Thomas the Tank Engine sleeping bag and Phil takes a shower in the main bathroom upstairs, I find myself sitting at the kitchen table with tears once again spilling down my cheeks. A cup of steaming chamomile tea sits on a coaster to my right, and in front of me is a tattered and faded copy of the yearbook from my senior year in high school. After cleaning both Collin and I up, I'd dug the book out of its resting place inside an old trunk in the basement and began the ordeal of torturing myself by reliving the past. I flipped through the pages slowly and methodically, the places where there's pictures of Donnie and I either together, or alone, long ago etched in my memory. Photos of us on our senior class' trip to Canada. Our arms around each other and smiles plastered across our faces as we pose at the base of the CN Tower, Donnie's chin resting on my shoulder as he stands behind me, Rangers caps on our head as we stand in front of the old Maple Leaf Gardens. There pictures further on in the book of me with the rest of the decorating committee and the drama club, and ones of Donnie with the various sports teams that he'd been on. He'd excelled in everything that he tried. Baseball, basketball, football. But his true calling and his real passion had been hockey. Our final year of school, he captained the team to the city championship, which they easily won, and he'd had scouts from various high profile universities watching him closely, ready to offer him scholarships to come and play for them.

That had been our original after graduation plan. We were going to both go to Georgetown and get our own place to live as opposed to staying on campus. We were going to get married as soon as we turned twenty -why we put that age limit on ourselves, I still don't know- and I was going to work towards my teaching degree and he was going to concentrate on studying engineering and playing hockey. He wasn't the smartest guy on the planet, but he had more brains than he ever gave himself credit for. I believed in Donnie. More than he believed in himself. I knew how determined and tenacious he was, and I knew he had amazing things inside of him. And I was sure that if he tried hard enough, those four years of post-secondary education would be a cakewalk for him. Only three weeks before we were to leave for school, he'd informed me that there was a change of plans. That his application to the NYPD academy had been accepted and he was going. No ifs, ands or buts. No matter how much I argued, begged and pleaded, his mind was made up. He was going to be a cop, just like his father. I had wanted so much better for him only because I knew he was capable of it. And quite honestly, I was terrified of being a cop's wife. I was scared that something horrible was going to happen to him and I couldn't fathom my life without him. But because I did love him and adore him and I wanted him to be happy, I'd accepted his decision in the end and that September we started our journeys down two entirely different paths.

Everything happens for a reason. I truly believe that. We'd been kids then. Sure, we'd been in love, but had it hadn't been the real thing. That had surfaced when we'd reconnected years later and we'd discovered that we had back when we were teenagers could in no way compare to what we were experiencing as adults. God had brought us back together for a reason. And, in a sense, Dean had played a part in it as well. If I'd never met Dean, I'd never had met up with Donnie again. And if I'd never hooked up with Donnie again, then Collin wouldn't be here. It really all is a double-edged sword in a way. Dean had fucked up and we had suffered for it. No one in our lives had come out of that unscathed, and Donnie and I, and our son, had paid the biggest prices of all.

For the second time in a little over an hour, I flip to the very back of the yearbook and my eyes wander over all of the messages scribbled in different coloured ink all over the inside. Donnie's stands out the most. He'd rolled his eyes and bitched and moaned when I'd plopped down beside him in the cafeteria and handed him a pen and told him he HAD to sign my yearbook. He didn't see the point. We were boyfriend and girlfriend, we had plans on getting married in two years time. Why did he have to sign the damn thing when he saw me every day and planned on spending his life with me? I'd insisted, and had in the end, gotten my way. Something that he'd been used to by then. And I can still see him sitting there at the cafeteria table, tapping the lid of the pen against his lips, eyes riveted on the yearbook as he thought of what to say. And when he had decided, he'd guarded the book with his forearm so I couldn't peek at what he was writing.

_Breezy,_

_I love you more then today then yesterday, but less then tomorrow_

_Donnie_

I'm not ashamed to admit that when I'd read it, I'd cried right there and then in the middle of the cafeteria. And I'm neither startled or embarrassed that those words still bring tears to my eyes.

"Are you there, Squeaks?"

I give a small start as the female voice on the other end of the cordless phone that's pressed to my ear snaps me out of my daydream.

"I'm here B," I say, and with my free hand, pick up my mug of tea and take a sip.

B is actually Bianca DeFazio. My best friend since grade nine and the only person that I've kept in contact with from high school. She was -still is, actually- a feisty and mouthy little thing with a head full of black ringlettes, a body that could stop traffic and a grey eyes that seem to be able to penetrate to your very soul when she looks at you. Twice married with four kids of her own, she'd gone back to her maiden name after she'd split from her second husband -a plastic surgeon to the elite- a little over a year ago, and was living large and completely in charge on the Upper West side. We'd met - complete polar opposites- when we'd been assigned as lab partners in science class and we'd been inseparable from that moment on. Known as the Bee-Bee Twins around school for our ability to finish each other's sentences and the fact we seemed joined at the hip, the only time we'd ever been on the outs was when she and Donnie had fooled around with each other after the senior prom. I'd been unable to attend and I'd been the one who'd encouraged my best friend and boyfriend to go to the dance together. I didn't give them permission to make out in the back seat of his father's caddy mind you, and while Donnie and I weathered that storm, Bianca and I didn't speak to one another again until she showed up as I was leaving for Georgetown with a care package she'd put together for me. We've kept in constant contact ever since. Bianca was my maid of honour when I'd married Dean and she'd been the one at the lamaze classes with me and in the delivery room when Collin was born.

She was also the only one who knew the truth and the whole truth. And I hadn't hesitated a minute to call her and tell her about my unexpected visitor.

"Tell me what you're thinking," Bianca gently encourages. "Tell me what you're thinking now that you've seen him again."

I sigh and tap my fingernails on the side of my mug. "I'm thinking that..." I struggle to find the right words.

"And be honest with me," Bianca says. "Don't piss on my shoes and tell me it's raining."

I can't help but crack even the smallest of smiles. "I'm thinking that I still love him," I admit. "That I've never stopped loving him."

"I see..." my best friend says, and I hear her take a sip of her own drink. It had been her idea when I'd called in a state; both of us make some chamomile tea and enjoy it together. "Well that's a fine how do you do, isn't it." It's more a statement than a question.

"I never should have walked away from him that day at the courthouse," I lament. "I never should have left him standing there like that. But I was just so hurt and so angry and I..."

"He's just as much to blame, Squeaks," Bianca informs me. "Sure, you shouldn't have done this and you shouldn't have done that and you were stupid to toss things away like you did, but honestly hon? He had your phone number and your address. Nothing's changed in three years and he could have just gotten a hold of you."

"But things were so messed up," I say, feeling defensive for both Donnie and myself. "The whole thing with Dean and the logbook made Don's life a living hell at work and he was trying to protect me and keep me away from all the craziness. And I guess time just got away from him and...."

"Three years?" Bianca asked. "Like, seriously?"

I don't have a response for that.

"Look, you both fucked up, plain and simple," my best friend says. "You both had a million and one chances to make things right and neither of you took up. But what's the sense beating a dead horse? What's done is done. And as shitty as it is he hasn't had contact with his son all this time, things could be worse. He showed up today for a reason, Squeaks. He was meant to come into your life again. Into Collin's life. He deserved to know about his boy and you know that."

I simply nod.

"But the past is the past," Bianca concludes. "None of that matters now. What matters is that Don's back in your life and you two have this beautiful, precious little boy. The important thing now is what the two of you do to make up for the past. How you go about making a future."

"But what if that isn't what he wants?" I ask. "I mean, I doubt he came here today looking to rekindle things with me."

"What the hell does it matter why he came there? He came, didn't he? Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. You've got this amazing chance in front of you. Don't blow it, Squeaks. You love him. You've always loved him. And maybe he's feeling the same way about you."

"I doubt it," I grumble.

"What do you have to lose?" Bianca asked. "What's the worse that can happen by at least trying?"

"He can laugh in my face and tell me to get a life?"

My best friend laughs. "Highly unlikely," she says.

I give a heavy sigh and cast a glance up at the ceiling as the shower stops running. "I should get going," I say into the phone. "Phil's just getting out of the shower and..."

"So Mister Personality is there, huh?" Bianca does little to disguise the disgust and disproval in her voice.

"Be nice," I scold.

"I am always nice," Bianca informs me. "I am the Queen of Nice, in fact. The Mother Freaking Teresa of the Upper West Side."

"Lizzie Borden or Mommy Dearest of the Upper West Side is more like it," I tease.

"Watch it, Squeaks. Don't make me come all the way to Queens and smack you around."

"I'm shaking," I laugh. "Thanks, B. For listening to me go on and on and on."

"I'm used to it," she chides. Then turns serious once again. "I mean it Bree-Anne. Don't let Don get away this time. It's a sign that he showed up today. The two of you are meant to be. And third time is the charm, right? Please don't let this chance get away."

"I'll see what I can do," I promise, then glance up as Phil wanders into the kitchen in a pair of khakis and a white golf shirt that is tight across his wide chest and around his strong arms. His hair is still damp from his shower and he sports a five o'clock shadow, and at that moment, as he stands alongside of my chair and leans down to press a kiss to the top of my head, his masculine smell permeates my senses and I'm reminded that there's still someone in my life that deserves better than the plans that are swirling through my head.

I tilt my head back as he moves to stand behind me chair, and he gives me a soft, adoring smile as he pecks the tip of my nose, then my forehead, before heading for the fridge and yanking the door open. He's been staying at the house with Collin and I since my parents left for their yearly month long retreat to the Dominican a week ago, and while at first he grumbled about us not coming to stay at his loft on the Upper East Side, he'd given in when I'd detailed everything I'd have to bring with us to make my son comfortable. Clothes, toys, books....it was simply just easier to just stay put.

"I'll give you a call later," I tell Bianca.

"Yeah...after you're done disinfecting yourself after you sleep with the douche," my best friend responds, then promptly hangs up.

"You're feeling better now?" Phil asks, as he takes a bottle of Bud from the fridge and twists off the cap as he uses his heel to close the door of the appliance.

I nod, and pressing end on the cordless, I set it on the table. My eyes quickly take in that treasured message in my old yearbook once again before I snap it closed. " I think I just had too much sun," I say, and sip my tea slowly.

"Who are you trying to kid, Bree-Anne?" Phil asks, and leans against the counter by the stove. "We both know what this is about."

I arch an eyebrow and stare at him pointedly. Waiting for him to enlighten me.

"How nice of daddy to just show up after three years of shirking his responsibilities," Phil remarks dryly, and swigs his beer.

"That's not how things went down and you know it," I retort. "He didn't even know that...."

"That Collin was his kid," Phil finishes. "Yeah...I know....you've told me a thousand times over and over again how you pulled the wool over everyone's eyes. His, your folks', Collin's, that dirt bag con that you were married to."

"I had my reasons for keeping things from Don," I argue. "It's not just as cut and dry as you think it is."

"You know what I think, Bree-Anne? You know what I really think?"

I sigh. "No...but I bet you're going to tell me, aren't you."

"I think that while your intentions, for the most part, were honourable, that you're an immature little girl. That for a mother, you've got a lot of growing up to do."

I roll my eyes, and pushing my chair back, wince as the legs squeak noisily on the wooden floor below. "That's just your opinion," I say, and stand up. "And we all know the old saying about how opinions are like assholes. Everyone's got one."

"So what are you going to do now?" Phil asks. "Now that the great love of your life has returned? Now that NYPD Blue knows he has a kid."

"Don't call him that," I respond, and carry my mug to the sink. "Donnie's a great cop and he deserves more respect than that."

"Oh that's right, he's royalty as far as flatfoots go," Phil snorts. "Daddy was some big name and he's been trying to fill the shoes since he was knee high to a grasshopper. Too bad he just succeeded him making himself look like a complete ass for not only turning in one of his own but for having that high speed chase in a cab that made the news a couple years back."

"Don did the right thing helping nail Dean," I say. "He stole drugs from a raid and he killed an innocent kid and...."

"And your golden boy is just your knight in shining armour," Phil interjects, a smirk on his face. "Next you're going to tell me, for the hundredth time, about how he masterminded that huge bust that brought down some crime family and about how he helped catch that serial assassin. Suspect Q or whatever."

"Suspect X," I angrily correct. "Why is it people always dwell on the bad things and not mention the great stuff? All you can talk about is the thing with Dean and some car chase through the city..."

"A car chase involving spies," Phil adds with a smirk. "Don't forget that. That's my favourite part. Top secret, international men of mystery responsible for robbing some of New York's elite. Including that bimbo your Mister Perfect was banging."

"Don't believe everything you read in the papers," I huff.

"You mean the same stories that you so lovingly cut out of the newspapers?" Phil asks. "How sweet, Bree-Anne. Keeping your own little shrine of sorts dedicated to the love of your life. I wonder how he'll react when he finds out that you've kept every little thing you've come across about him. It's actually kind of stalker-ish, don't you think?"

"I think you're being a complete ass," I reply. "Now I'm going to lie down and..."

Phil grabs a hold of my wrist as I attempt to leave the kitchen and yanks me into him. The move itself is aggressive, but not in the least bit abusive. It's more to do with assorting his assorting and claiming me as his possession than it is about controlling me. And it's a side of him that he knows turns me on. That domineering, bossy way that always manages to get me all hot and bothered and has me eating out of the palm of his hand. Only today it doesn't seem to be working. At least not to me.

"Here's what we're going to do," he says, his voice low as he wraps both of his arms around me, one hand settling on my ass and the other, the one with the beer bottle in it, on the small of my back. The position of my chest flat against his has hiked the bottom of my shirt up, and I can feel cold glass against the slice of exposed skin. "Now that daddy's come back into the picture and he's going to be itching to get not just a piece of that kid of his, but a piece of this..." he squeezes my ass. "...I'm going to call up one of the nice, expensive, ruthless lawyer friends that I have and we're going to make sure that A, you have full custody of the kid regardless of all the juicy skeletons in your closet, and B, that daddy dearest starts paying out of his ass for child support."

"Don isn't a bad guy," I protest. "In his defence he didn't know about Collin until today and he..."

"And he has a right to see his kid. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get all of that. But you know what else I get? I get that as the sperm donor, he has a legal responsibility to that kid and you shouldn't have to be saddled with all the expenses and all the child-rearing duties. Am I right?"

I sigh heavily.

"Am....I....right?" he repeats, speaking between pecks to my lips.

I nod reluctantly.

"He can't just walk into your life after three years and expect to claim that kid, or you as his own," Phil continues. "Especially not you. A lot has changed in three years. You're not the same person anymore, Bree-Anne. You've gone on with your life. With me. And the sooner that Prince Charming realizes that, the better off we'll all be. You honestly don't think that he's going to waltz in here after all that time and just offer you the world, do you?"

"I don't think that..."

"Because you're even more delusional and immature than I thought you were if you do," Phil tells me. "I'm only looking out for your best interests here. And Collin's. And if this knight in shining armour of yours broke your heart not once but...."

"He didn't...."

"...not once but twice..." my boyfriend continues. "....then he's going to do it a third time if you let him. And I'm not going to let him. Plain and simple. You and me? We work. And you and him? Well do I really have to elaborate on what a God awful shitty mess he's managed to make your life and not even be in it?"

"You don't understand," I attempt to protest yet again. "You just don't..."

Phil kisses me softly, and a smirk crosses his face as he runs the cold beer bottle along the small of my back and notices how I shudder. "It's you and I in this Bree-Anne," he says. "Not me, you and the flatfoot. I can give you a better life. Look at everything I've already given you? Don't you want more of that? Don't you want that kind of life?"

I honestly don't know what I want anymore. But I can't come right out and say that.

"You leaving me for someone like him?" Phil gives a dry laugh. "That's like giving up your Ferrari for a bus pass."

I open my mouth to argue that point, and he covers my lips with his in a long, slow kiss.

"I know I'm not always the best man for you," he says, and strokes my forehead with the tip of his nose. "I know I can be an obnoxious, abrasive ass sometimes. But that's the job side of me and with this job....this job is twenty-four seven and it's hard to turn that side of me off. But you..." he pulls me tighter against him, so I can clearly feel the state of his arousal. "...you just drive me insane, Bree-Anne. You just look at me a certain way and you just drive me insane. Can you feel that? Can you feel the effect you have on me?"

I swallow noisily and nod. Unable to suppress the shiver that passes through me as he slides his hand over my ass then brings it up to shoulder and moves my hair away from the side of my face.

"You and me babe," Phil whispers against my ear, then twists his hand in my hair and begins to kiss, nibble and suckle at my neck. "All that matters is you and me," he says.

I give a sigh and my close as my body relaxes under his touch.

And while it feels good and I feel cherished and wanted, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't thinking of someone else the entire time.

* * *

**Massive thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! And lurking! I appreciate all of the support!**

**Special thanks to:**

**CSINYMinute  
Andorian Ice Princess- AiP  
ParaCaerOuVoar  
xSamiliciousX  
Mauveine  
Forest Angel  
Heart2handgun  
monoxide lullaby  
blueeyedauthor  
soccer-bitch  
new-york-babeee**


	5. I Still Miss You

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS.**

**HUGE THANKS TO EVERYONE ADDING ME AND THIS STORY TO THEIR ALERTS AND FAVS!**

**THIS WAS POSTED EARLIER, BUT A MESS UP WITH THE SITE MADE IT ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE FOR ANYONE TO ACCESS. SO I JUST ERASED THE FIRST ONE, THEN POSTED AGAIN. *SIGH***

**FOR SOME REASON, THE CHAPTER GETS POSTED AND THEN MYSTERIOUSLY DISAPPEARS ABOUT AN HOUR LATER. SO BEAR WITH ME FOLKS IF YOU END UP WITH TONS OF ALERTS FOR THIS CHAPTER! BLAME THE SITE!**

* * *

**I Still Miss You**

"I never knew 'til you were gone,  
how many pages you were on  
it never ends I keep turning  
and line after line and you are there again.  
I don't know how to let you go,  
you are so deep down in my soul.  
I feel helpless so hopeless,  
it's a door that never closes  
no I don't know how to do this.

I've talked to friends  
I've talked to myself  
I've talked to God  
I prayed liked hell, but I still miss you.  
I tried sober, I tried drinking  
I've been strong and I've been weak  
and I still miss you.  
I've done everything,  
move on like I'm supposed to,  
I'd give anything for one more minute with you  
I still miss you."  
-I Still Miss You, Keith Anderson

* * *

_**FLACK'S POV**_

My mind is racing as I mount the steps at the back of my parents' house. It's been four hours since I'd sat in front of Breezy's place -only two short blocks from where I am now- with my heart hammering in my chest and my brain threatening to explode from an overload of revelations as I attempt to being the long process of bonding with my son. I've been suffering through a roller coaster of emotion since the moment I'd pulled up in front of her house and I'd seen her in the front yard. I'd been captivated by her. The same way I had been on that first day of school standing at my locker many years ago, and then again, when she'd unexpectedly wandered back into my life via Dean Truby. I was barely into my teens the first time she'd knocked me on my ass with those incredible brown eyes, heart-warming giggle and bubbly personality. Right from the get go, Breezy had a way of getting to me like no other female since has ever managed to do. Maybe it was the way her eyes widened and sparkled when she gave that brilliant smile, or the adorable little shriek she let loose and the way she clasped her hands together and bounced on her heels when she got excited. Or the way she used to react to the stupid jokes I used to tell. While most people rolled their eyes, scoffed, and looked at me like I was an idiot, Breezy always made me feel like I was the funniest guy on earth. I'd get to my punch line and she'd wrap both of her arms around my bicep and throw her head back and unleash that uninhibited, boisterous laugh that never failed to make me chuckle.

When I'd lost her, -both times- it had been that laugh and her often childish tendencies that I'd missed the most. Of course, I'd also suffered the loss of our intimacy as well. I'd missed the feel of her breasts pressed against my chest and the way her lips and her tongue had easily seduced mine. The way she'd tunnel her fingers through my hair while writhing and whimpering as I slowly and methodically tempted and teased every inch of her supple body. How she'd rake her nails down my back and across my shoulders and my name would explode from her lips as she came undone beneath me. And afterwards, how she'd snuggle into me, our bodies soaked in perspiration and our hearts hammering in our chest, and give me a dreamy, satisfied smile before bursting into giggles and burying her face in the space between my neck and shoulders.

I had quickly realized, as I'd sat in my squad watching her in her front yard that I'd never gotten over Breezy. That no matter how many times I had told myself that I was going on with my life -by briefly hooking up with Devon and then throwing myself into something serious with Jess- I had really just been putting one foot in front of the other and drawing air into my lungs. I'd simply learned how to cope with the way things were and accept my lot in life. And as I'd watched Breezy cross the street after she'd escorted me to my car -I won't deny that I'd been admiring the way her hips, wider and more voluptuous since she'd had Collin, had swayed and the way the sunlight had caused her hair to shimmer- I thought of how I'd never really moved on after her. Because how can you move on when you're so hopelessly, desperately in love with someone that's always been so close, yet has seemed so far?

It had been incessant thoughts about Breezy and our son -I was still in awe of both the realization that I was a father and that my boy was so incredibly intelligent and insanely beautiful- that had prevented me from getting even a moments rest. I had gone straight home to lower Manhattan after leaving Breezy's. By-passing the dozen of establishments offering liquor for sale despite the fact my brain had been screaming at me that I needed to put something strong in my system in order to make sense of everything that had gone down. I'm past using alcohol as an escape. I'd turned to the bottle to deal with the aftermath of Jess' death -more so the tragic and sudden way her life had been snuffed out then actually losing her- and my decision too exact revenge and hand out my own brand of justice. I'd spent many a day and night in a drunken stupor and had, on a number of occasions, sought solace and companionship in the arms of women I'd picked off in bars while three sheets to the wind. I'm not proud of the way I'd conducted myself for those long, dark months. I generally wasn't the fuck 'em and leave 'em type, and I was disgusted with myself for ever treating both myself, and those random girls, like that. Thankfully, I've managed to get my shit together. And not a moment too soon, I guess. With Breezy back in the picture and a son I'm desperate to connect with, I don't need any skeletons in my closet messing things up for me.

I yank open the screen door that leads into the sunroom at the rear of my folks' house, and through the glass pane in the heavy wooden door several feet away, I can see my mom moving around the kitchen, tidying up the supper table and placing dirty dishes on the counter next to the sink. Dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans and a simple red t-shirt, her elbow length black hair is pulled away from her slender, youthful face and done up in in a high ponytail. Just shy of sixty and my mom is as spry and feisty as ever. With her vibrant blue eyes and her take no shit personality -honed from years of raising two rebellious yet relatively obedient and decent boys and a nightmare of a daughter and from being married to an emotionally and physically absent man- she's a force to be reckoned with and has long ago learned how to keep her family in line. I don't spend as much time with my mother as I'd like to. We've always been incredibly close and I can easily remember many a time in my younger years when she'd take me to six in the morning hockey practices in the dead of winter or football workouts in the driving rain. How she'd been her one man cheering section in the crowd at every game I'd played from my elementary grades and all through high school until I graduated. Mom had very much been both parents to me. Dad had been always addicted to his job and his 'extra curricular activities'. Putting the beats down on perps and gambling had been the two great loves of his life, and if he wasn't missing birthday parties or school functions or Christmas dinner because he was out pounding the beat, he was MIA because he was down getting shit faced at the local pub while dropping all of our money on football games. And when he was around, so was the bottle of Jack Daniels that always seemed permanently clutched in his hand. I honestly don't remember a time from the time I was five until I left home at nineteen where my father wasn't at least under the influence of a hell of a buzz. And unfortunately, I can also still vividly recall - and still bear the faint scars from- the beatings he used to unleash on not only my mother, but my younger brother Chris and I as well.

My father and I have never had a typical father and son relationship. I'd been on the outs with him since the time I laid an ass whupping on him when I was nineteen and I'd come home to find him wailing on my mother as she cowered in the corner of the kitchen, her clothes torn and blood seeping from a wound in her forehead. I'd had enough, and all of the years of rage had come flooding out of me and I'd taken matters into my own hands. I was well over six feet tall and two hundred pounds by then, and with the old man soused, I'd taken him to school and had taught him a lesson he'd never forget. From that moment on, no one was going to fuck around with my mother and get away with it. I'd left shortly after that, opting to live with my grandfather while I attended the academy, and my mother had been front row and center along with my proud grandparents on both sides of the family when I'd finally graduated. My dad had been nowhere around, but I'd gotten wind of the fact that he thought I was going to embarrass the Flack name. That I was going to be a massive fuck up that sullied his reputation and brought great shame to not only him, but the other cops in the clan that had come before him.

I think that's why I've always been work first, every thing else second. Why I've worked myself to the bone to be the best that I can be. Not to prove to myself that I can be just as good as, if not better than, him. But to show him that I am worthy of both his love and his respect. I'm not just living under his shadow, I'm constantly haunted by it. And no matter how many high profile busts I have under my collar or how many bad guys I've helped take off the streets, I've not once since I've been on the job, had my father tell me he's proud of me. But he's always quick to toss my screw ups in my face and plop his ass on a bar stool at the pub down the street and bad mouth me for something stupid I've done. After the bombing that had nearly claimed my life, things had started to get a little better between my old man and me. He was the first person I saw when I came out of the drug induced coma. I can still remember, through a fog of medication and a shit load of confusion, the way he'd slapped me on the thigh and said, "Welcome back you stubborn bastard!". And how there'd been the faint glimmer of tears in his eyes when I'd told him once, when the pain from rehab had been too severe, that I wished I had have died. My parents had taken me in while I'd recuperated and while my mother had nursed me back to health with her home cooking and the strict way in which she oversaw my at home exercises and controlled my medication, it had been my dad that had taken me into Manhattan for my physiotherapy appointments. And who'd been in the room when the agony had reduced me to tears and I'd been a sobbing mess in a curled up ball on the floor.

And just when things had been going uphill with my father and me, Dean Truby had gone and fucked it all up. Dad had been mortified when I'd given my logbook to Mac, and he'd sided with the rest of the old-timers and the majority of the cops in my precinct that I was nothing but a rat for turning in one of my own. And when it had come out in court that Breezy and I had been having an affair for nearly a year and that our plan had been for her to leave Dean and start a life with me, well that had been the straw that broke the camel's back. Any headway that my father and I had made with each other had disintegrated. And three years later, I am still attempting to get back into his good graces. Not even my girlfriend's death and my best friend's paralysis -albeit temporary- has been enough to prompt him to start building a bridge between us. While my mom is always after me to come for Sunday dinners and to call her more often, my dad is happy with the one or two visits I pay them every couple of months. He'd probably even be happy if I never came around at all. But I'm a stubborn ass and I won't give him that kind of satisfaction.

"Hey there, pretty lady," I greet my mom, as I let myself into the kitchen. There's the faint aroma of lasagna lingering in the air, and my stomach rumbles noisily.

She looks up from stacking dirty plates next to the sink and gives me a warm, welcoming smile. "Well hey there, stranger," she responds, and wiping her hands on her thighs, journeys across the kitchen and stands on her tip toes to kiss my cheek and wrap her arms around my neck. "You haven't reached the end of your two months yet," she teases, then holds me at arms length.

"I didn't know I had to stick to that schedule," I say, and smooth loose pieces of hair away from her face.

"What's wrong?" she asks, her brilliant blue eyes searching mine as she runs her hands along my arms and brings them to rest on the sides of my face.

"Nothing's wrong," I reply, hoping that she can't see right through the blatant lie. "There has to be something wrong for me to come and see you?"

"Are you feeling okay?" my mom inquires, ignoring me completely. "Are you sleeping okay? Are you eating? You look tired, Don. I bet you haven't had a good night's sleep in a long time, never mind a decent meal."

"Mom...." I take her face in my hands and press a kiss to her forehead. "I'm fine. I haven't been a good sleeper since the bombing, you know that. And it's hard to eat properly with my schedule."

"You work too much," she scolds, and pats my cheeks before stepping away. "You need to take it easy before you burn yourself out. I know that you're trying to keep yourself busy, that it's just the way that you cope with things. Just like it's always been your father's way of coping with things..."

"I'm coping just fine," I tell her, anxious to turn the subject before she goes into a long winded rant about how I'm just like my old man when it comes to the job. How nothing else matters except for fighting crime and locking up the bad guys. To hell with my personal life or my sanity. "Where is dad?" I ask, not even having to ask if there's any leftovers as my mom wanders over to the fridge and yanking open the door, pulls out a Pyrex plate covered in aluminium foil.

"He's downstairs in the basement watching his beloved Mets," my mom replies, then shuts the fridge and carries the lasagne to the counter by the stove. I watch as she snags a clean plate from a nearby cupboard, along with a fork and knife and proceeds to prepare me a plate of food.

"They're playing the Cubs tonight," I comment, as I pull out a chair at the kitchen table and take a seat. "He must be done there just cursing away. Cubs are in first and the Mets are dwellin' in the basement. Hopefully his best friend Jack Daniels is down there keeping him company."

"Your father and Jack have been buddies since well before legal drinking age," my mom remarks dryly, as she removes a monstrous piece of lasagna from its resting place and drops it onto the plate.

"Jack and I are on the outs," I say. "I haven't been in his company, in any booze's company for a couple of months."

"Thank God for that," my mother makes the sign of the cross before she wraps some paper towel over the plate and deposits it into the microwave. "Your liver is probably relieved that you've decided to give up on your favourite past time."

"I wasn't that bad," I argue, and my mom rolls her eyes. "Okay....so I was," I reluctantly admit.

"Last thing Jess would have wanted is you falling to shit because of her," my mom says, and I feel my entire body tense at the mere mention of my dead girlfriend's name.

I won't deny that I miss her and that I did have feelings for her, and that her death has left a permanent hole in my heart. But that hole is slowly starting to patch itself up and it doesn't hurt as much to think about Jess anymore. But there's times when I'm haunted by the sight of her dying right before my very eyes on the floor of that diner. Where I can still feel her warm blood seeping between my fingers as I attempted, in vain, to help her in the back of that patrol car. And where I can still hear that surgeon telling me that despite doing everything remotely possible, Jess was gone.

And I can vividly recall the look on that perp's face when I'd levelled my gun between his eyes and I...

My mom slams the breadbox by the fridge and I nearly jump out of my skin.

"Did you hear me, Donnie?" she asks, as she sets a container of margarine and a loaf of Italian bread in front of me. "Jess wouldn't want you to...."

"Drown myself in my sorrow and feel sorry for myself," I interject. "Yeah, mom. I know. You've told me that a million times in the past year. And you know what? I'm past that stage in my life. I'm through with the booze and making stupid decisions and going after the short term fix to my problems. I'm moving on and I just want to...I want to be able to do that smoothly and easily and having you bring Jess up all the time...well that isn't helping me, okay?"

"Okay," she says, and steps behind my chair long enough to smooth my hair off of my forehead and drop a kiss to the top of my head. "You're doing fine Don," she tells me, as the microwave beeps noisily and she heads off to grab my meal. "I'm proud of you, you know. I know it was a long, hard road but you're doing good. I just worry about you. You're my baby boy."

"Chris is your baby boy," I correct. "He _is_ the youngest."

"But you're my first," my mom reminds me. "And you've always held a bigger piece of my heart because of that. You were my first baby and a mother always as a soft spot for her first baby no matter how many come after. I'm sure it 's the same for fathers too. They always love to have a first born son to brag about and dote on. And hopefully when you find someone to have a family with, you'll get to experience that."

I simply nod and fight back the urge to tell her about Collin right there and then. The entire drive over here I've been contemplating what to tell my parents. I'm not entirely sure how to break the news to them that their grandson has been living two blocks from them for past two and half years. I'm pretty sure that they've seen Breezy out and about in the neighbourhood. I know for a fact that my mom still goes to church every Sunday -dad sometimes tags along- and that Breezy's parents were always well known in the congregation. And I find it hard to believe that my folks have never laid eyes on Collin.

I wait until she's set the lasagna and a glass of ice water in front of me, and I take a few bites of my dinner before slowly making my way to the point of my unexpected visit.

* * *

"When's the last time you saw Bree-Anne, mom?" I casually ask, and I notice the way her shoulders tense a little as she stands at the sink, back towards me as she works on some of the dirty dishes.

"Bree-Anne?" she inquires. "As in Bree-Anne Truby?"

The use of that surname with Breezy's first name nearly makes me gag.

"Doesn't she go by Douglas again?" I ask. "I mean, they _are_ divorced."

"I don't know what last name she goes by, Don. I don't know if she's gone back to her maiden one or if she's still using Truby. I would hope that once she got rid of that piece of crap that she married she'd have enough sense to not hang on to anything that belongs to him."

"Must be hard on her having Dean's kid then," I toss out.

"Must be..." my mom says, and gives a heavy sigh.

"When's the last time you saw her?" I press.

"Don, why are you bringing her up now?" my mother asks. "After three years why are you...?"

"For the last month or so I've been thinking about getting in touch with her," I admit. "There's a lot of things I want to say to her. Things I need to apologize for."

"Just let sleeping dogs lie," my mom says. "Why can't you just let the poor girl get on with her life? After everything that she went through because of her husband and everything that you..." her words trail off.

"Say it mom," I encourage. "Just say it. Say what you really feel. About how I abandoned her when she needed me the most. How I let the defence drag her through the mud and make her look like some two timing whore and then I didn't have the balls to be there for her afterwards. You think I don't kick myself in the ass for that every day? You think I don't know what a screw up I am for not going after her? You think I haven't missed her?"

"I know that you loved her very much," my mom responds. "But that's the past Don. That's the past and you need to..."

"I went to her house today," I interrupt, and a smirk covers my face when my mother drops a plate noisily in the sink and soap suds spray the front of her t-shirt. "I talked to her mom. I talked to Breezy. And I talked to Collin, too."

A heavy silence envelopes us. I set my fork down on the table and pushing my plate away from me, I pick up my glass of water and sip from it as I lean back in my chair, my eyes on my mother as she stops her scrubbing of the dishes. closes her eyes and lets her chin falls to her chest. I've hit a nerve. A huge one. I can tell by the way she's drawing in deep breaths and releasing them slowly in an attempt to keep herself calm.

"When's the last time you saw Bree-Anne, mom?" I ask again. "And don't lie to me and tell me you haven't seen her around. With Collin."

"The last time I saw them was a week ago over at Bleeker Park," my mother finally admits. "Bree-Anne was there with her son..."

"With _our_ son," I correct. "_My_ son."

"I had cut through the park to get to your Aunt Mary's house and I saw them there," my mom continues. "I knew it was Bree-Anne right away. All of that red hair and that laugh...you can never forget that laugh once you hear it. She was pushing Collin on the swings and I stopped and talked to her. Briefly. Just casual stuff. About how her parents were doing and how she was."

"But you've seen her a lot before that, right?" I question.

"Don, what does...?"

"Right?" I press, fighting to control my temper.

My mom gives a heavy sigh and removing her hands from the water, snags a dish towel off of the counter beside her and turns to face me. "We see her a lot. And her son. Both your father and I. We only live two blocks from them Donnie and we go to the same church and we..."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask. "Why didn't you ever pick up the phone and tell me how she was? Why didn't you ever phone me and tell me about Collin?"

"What about him?" my mother asks.

"What about him?!" I snap. "Don't tell me you didn't wonder about him, mom! Don't tell me that every time you and dad saw him you didn't think that he was mine! Don't tell me that you didn't talk to each other about it!"

"Of course we did, Don. But...."

"But what? How can there be a but in all of this? Are you telling me that you and dad didn't know that was your grandson?"

"We questioned Bree-Anne about it once and she told us that Collin was Dean's. That she'd had a DNA test and it said that the baby was his and we believed her and we..."

"The last time I checked Dean Truby didn't have black hair and blue eyes!" I retort. "And neither does Breezy! How in the hell did you just believe her?! He looks just like me!"

"Bree-Anne had already been through so much and we didn't want to make things worse on her by pressing the issue so we backed off and...."

"And let me miss two and a half years of my son's life," I conclude. "You actually sat back, knowing in your heart of hearts that Collin was my son, that he was your grandson and you never even bothered to say anything!"

"We didn't want to make things worse for her," my mom repeats. "After everything she'd went through with Dean, we just..."

"If I'd known about Collin two and a half years ago, my life wouldn't be the way it is now!" I inform her. "If I'd known that that was my baby that Breezy had given birth to, I would have went to that hospital and brought them both home with me. I would have done the right thing, mom! I would have married her and we would be raising our son together! If I'd known about Collin, Breezy and I would be together right now. I never would have gotten mixed up with Devon and I never would have ended up with Jess and I never would have fucked myself up so badly after she died!"

"Don, one has nothing to do with the other. Whether or not you knew about Collin has no bearing on what happened with Jess."

"It has everything to do with how I am!" I argue. "I'm fucked up, mom! Don't you see that? Don't you see what's happened to me? I'm just starting to get myself back together and it's been a year! I was a fucking mess and not once did you come to me and tell me about Breezy and Collin! Not once did you tell me about my son when you knew how badly I needed something, anything to make me whole again! And if I'd known about him right away..."

"If you'd known about him right away, Jess would still be dead," my mom concludes. "She would have died anyway. Whether or not Breezy and Collin had have been in your life, Jess would have still died and..."

"And it would have just been my losing a co-worker!" I interject. "I wouldn't have been with Jess 'cause I would have already been married to Breezy, raising a family together! Jess still would have died, but it wouldn't have been me losing someone I love. I would have lost a friend and a fellow cop but that's it! Don't you understand that? It wouldn't have fucked me up like it did, mom! 'Cause my life would have been totally different!"

"So you're blaming me for losing Jessica?" my mother asks. "You're blaming me for..."

"I'm blaming you for keeping this from me and watching me fall apart!" I reply. "I'm blaming you for keeping my son away from me! For keeping Breezy from me!"

"If you want to be angry, Don, be angry at who deserves it. Bree-Anne's known since that baby was days old that you were his father and she never once called you and told you about him! She lied that Dean Truby was the father and she put his name on that birth certificate! Not yours! Bree-Anne did this to you, not me."

"She had her reasons," I argue. "She wouldn't have kept it from me for no reason."

"She shouldn't have kept it from you at all! He is your son and if you're going to be mad at someone for missing nearly three years of life, be mad at her! She's the one that kept him from you, not me!"

"But you knew! You knew and you're my mother! He's your grandson! And you never said anything! I'm your son, mom! I'm your son and Collin's mine and you knew it and never told me!"

"It wasn't my place to tell you, Don. As much as that hurts you to hear it..."

"You knew how messed up I was!" Tears of anguish and rage threaten and I have to struggle to keep myself under control. "You knew how badly I needed something to keep me from falling apart! And knowing about my son would have made all the difference in the world and you never even bothered to tell me! To help me!"

My mom sighs heavily. "I don't know what you expect me to say," she admits.

"How about 'I'm sorry' for one?" I suggest. "How about you telling that you're sorry that you watched me screw my life up when you had the one card in your hand to play that would have solved everything."

"Finding out about Collin wouldn't have made the hurt better, Don."

"Maybe not," I frantically brush tears off of my cheeks. "But it sure as hell would have given me something to live for. A reason to get my shit together quicker."

"I am sorry that I never said anything to you," my mother says. "And I'm sorry that you feel that I held this all back to purposefully hurt you. But being mad at me isn't going to solve anything. I'm not the only one that's been lying to you for nearly three years. If you're going to be angry at someone..."

"Be angry at Breezy," I finish for her. "Yeah...I heard you the first time, okay? And you know what? I _am_ mad at Breezy. I'm pissed off that she never called me to tell me that Collin was my son. I'm hurt and I'm angry and I'm..." I take a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly. "...and I'm still in love with her and I want her back."

"Donnie..." my mom cautiously approaches the table and lays a hand on my shoulder. "You're hurting over Jess and you're still grieving and grief makes us say things that we don't mean. Bree-Anne was a huge part of your life. Was. What the two of you had is in the past and fooling yourself into thinking that you're still in love with her is..."

"Oh that's just fucking rich, mom," I snort. "You don't tell me for three years that I have a kid but you're quick to tell me how I'm feeling. Nice."

"I'm not telling you how you're feeling, I'm just...." she sighs and strokes my hair. "I just don't want you thinking you still love Bree-Anne because you think being with her will solve everything."

"I'm not thinking I love Breezy, mom. I do love her. I've always loved her. I've loved her since I was fourteen years old. And as far as fooling myself goes? I've been fooling myself for years that I was over her when I really wasn't. Every woman that I've been with has been a distraction. And I did love Jess but..." I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. "I didn't love her in the way that I love Breezy. And if Jess had never died and I'd spent the rest of my life with her? Well then I also would have spent the rest of my life comparing her to Breezy. And how fair would that have been?"

"Don....I know you're struggling with what happened to Jessie and I know that anger and grief makes us say things we don't mean...."

"I do mean them!" I snap. "I mean every damn thing that I'm saying! I know what my heart wants, mom. I know who it wants. And it finally realized today when I saw Bree-Anne again that I'd never stopped loving her. And I'll do anything to get her back. Anything."

"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe that isn't what she wants?" my mom asks, and sinking down into the chair across from me, leans forward to take my hands in hers. "Have you stopped to think that maybe Bree-Anne has gone on with her life and she's happy just the way it is? She was your high school sweetheart and there's some powerful history between the two of you, but...."

"She's more than that, mom. She's more than the first love of my life. She's not just the girl I dated through high school. There's way more to it, and us, than that."

"The two of you had an affair, Don. You came back into her life when she needed someone the most. She was going through hell with Dean and you were there and all of those old feelings between the two of you resurfaced and you gave her the one thing she so desperately needed. An escape."

I shake my head adamantly. "It was more than that," I argue. "It's always been more than that between us. I wasn't just an escape for her, mom. We found each other again and we took that as a sign. I wasn't the other man in her life. I was the only man in her life."

"But she stayed married to Dean," my mom reminds me. "She never left him for you. She never gave up the life she had with him for one with you."

"You weren't there," I tell her. "You weren't there when Breezy and I were together. You don't know the things she told me about him and you don't know the things that we talked about. We had plans, mom. Legitimate plans. She was going to leave him and get a divorce and we were going to be together. We were going to get married and have a family and..."

"When, Don? When was all this going to happen?"

"She was going to tell him before Christmas. That's what we decided on. That she'd tell him before Christmas and that she'd come and live with me. End of story."

"But that never happened."

"Of course it never happened!" I exclaim. "It never happened 'cause Dean went and fucking killed someone! And because months before that the selfish bastard went and stole drugs from a raid I was in charge of and he was selling them on the street! Everything's connected and he...." I pause and shake my head, suddenly struck by how much I had just sounded like Mac. "...he went and screwed everything up because he's a lying, thieving, murdering bastard."

"So now it's Dean Truby's fault that Bree-Anne kept Collin from you," my mom concludes.

"It's his fault that things are as screwed up as they are," I say. "Because if he'd never stolen those drugs in the first place, then he never would have been in the warehouse that night and he never would have killed Kym Tanaka and I never would have had to turn myself into a rat bastard and I never would have lost Breezy. Don't you see how it all works? How him taking those drugs started all of this?"

"There's more to one person to blame for the past three years Don," my mother caresses my wrists with her thumbs. "Dean isn't the only person at fault here."

"He's the only person that murdered an innocent kid," I say with a derisive snort.

"Bree-Anne is just as much to blame as he is. She stayed with him even though you say that the two of you had all of these plans together and that she loved you."

"She did love me. And we did have plans. But she was scared of him and she was worried about how things would look for me if she just walked out on him and took up with me. She didn't want me having a rough time at work, so she wanted to make sure that it was the right time for us to take a step like that. She did it for me, mom. To protect me."

"And is that why she never got in contact with you once in the past three years? It's really three and a half in you consider the time between Dean's arrest and his trial if you want to get technical about it. If she loved you that much, why didn't she call you, Don? Why didn't she try and make things right between you?"

I just shrug.

"If she wanted to be with you, she would have found a way," my mom concludes. "She would have gotten in contact with you."

"She's gotta have her reasons," I say. "Breezy must have a good reason for not calling me. For keeping Collin from me. She wouldn't have done it just to hurt me. She's not like that. She's not that kind of person. She has her reasons for doing what she did."

"You never could be impartial when it came to her," my mom gives a soft smile. "You always did think the sun rose and set on her and that she could do no wrong."

"I know Breezy, mom. And she wouldn't do that to me."

"You did know Bree-Anne. Past tense, Donnie. You knew her when the two of you were kids and you knew her three years ago, but people change. You can't expect them to stay the same. After everything that she went through, you can't expect her to be the same sweet, naive, innocent girl next door."

"I don't expect her to be like that. I never expected her to be like that," I argue. "But Breezy wouldn't lie to me and keep Collin away for no reason, mom. You weren't there today. At her house. You weren't there and you didn't see how happy she was to see me. How relieved she was that I was there. You didn't see her tears or feel what passed between us when I held her. And you didn't see the remorse and the regret in her eyes when I met Collin. You weren't there. I was. And I know what went down between us and what still exists between us."

"You're fooling yourself, Donnie. You're hurting from losing Jess and you're reading into things because you're lonely and you want there to be something there. That's all."

"I am not reading into anything. And I'm not still hurting from losing Jess. How many times do we have to go through this? How many times do I have to tell you that I do miss her and I did love her. I'm not denying that. But I'm not as torn up and devastated as you think I should be. I'm over Jess, mom. I'm sad she died and it still bothers me the way things went down. The way things ended for her like that. But I'm not..." I sigh heavily, then look up and lock eyes with my mother's. "I am not grieving for her. I'm grieving for myself. For what I lost in _my_ life. And that extends far beyond Jess."

I desperately want to tell her about killing the perp responsible for gunning down my girlfriend. I want to purge my soul and my conscience of everything that is weighing me down and preventing me from fully healing. Because regardless of how justified I feel, it's still a hell of a secret to keep. A monstrous burden to bear. And the only thing that keeps me quiet is the fact that Danny shares that secret with me. And that he'd go down just as fast and hard as I would if it ever got out that he'd known that I'd killed that guy. I've got to protect Danny. More than I have to protect myself.

* * *

"So what are you going to do?" my mom asks, finally backing down from her hard stance on Breezy. "What are you going to do about Bree-Anne and Collin?"

"I want to do the right thing," I reply. "I want us to be a family."

"That isn't going to happen overnight, Don. If ever. You don't know if she feels the same way that you do. And you can't just expect to walk into her life after all this time and have her welcome you with open arms. There isn't going to be a quick fix. And rushing into something because there's a child involved isn't the way to go."

"So we...I...take things slow," I conclude. "I work my way back into her good graces, one step at a time. I don't expect us to get back together right away. Too much has happened for things to be that easy. But I do love her mom and I do want to be with her and when I saw her today...I know there's something still there between us."

"And Collin?" she inquires. "What about him? This goes far beyond just you and Bree-Anne."

"Breezy and I will have to talk about him," I say. "We'll have to sit down and talk about why she kept him from me and where we go from here. The fact of that matter is that he's my son and I want to be part of his life. I've already missed two and a half years. I don't want to miss any more."

"And then there's financial support," my mother adds. "There's a lot of legal issues here, Don. It's not just as simple as walking into his life and claiming him. We don't know what's on his birth certificate, if anything. Bree-Anne could have left the father's name blank. She could have put Dean's name. And if that's the case..."

"That stuff is what lawyers are for, mom. They can handle that side of things. I'll get myself a lawyer and I'll have him deal with all of that. And Breezy and I can work out support. She knows I'll step up and help take care of him. Anything she needs, I'll do it. Anything. I just want to be part of my son's life. Part of her life."

My mom nods, then glances towards the kitchen doorway as my old man wanders in, a nearly empty glass of Jack in his hand, his snow white hair mussed and his Mets t-shirt and sweatpants wrinkled. Almost sixty five and forty pounds overweight and he's still an intimidating bastard.

"What's going on in here?" he asks, eyes flicking between mom and I. "What you doing here, boy?"

"Our son needs a reason to come and visit us?" my mom replies with a question of her own.

"Why the serious faces?" he inquires, and grabs the bottle of whiskey from the top of the fridge. "Who died?"

"Don't be such an insensitive bastard," my mother answers.

I wonder if just maybe Jess' death bothers her more than it actually bothers me. If it's my mom, who was beginning to warm up to the idea that maybe, just maybe, Jess and I were one day going to be headed down the aisle and have a family. I've never had the heart to tell her that I'm pretty sure that none of that ever would have happened. That I didn't have that much invested in the relationship yet, and that there's no way of telling how I would have felt a year or two into it. "

"Donnie and I were just having a mother and son talk," my mom tells the old man. "He had some things he needed to get off his chest. That's all."

"What kind of things?" my dad asks, as he twists the cap off of the liquor and tops off his drink.

My mother looks at me. An unspoken request for permission passes between us I nod.

"He went and saw Bree-Anne today," she replies, and my father's eyes widen slightly before he glances over at me.

"Never could leave well enough alone, could you," he states, and returns the bottle to the top of the fridge and swigs his drink. "It's been three years. You can't let the poor girl leave in peace? You have to go and shove your nose into things? You haven't done enough to screw her life up?"

"I met Collin dad," I tell him. "I met my son. You know, the one that you and mom never bothered to tell me about."

"Wasn't our place to tell you," he retorts. "It was up to his mother. And seeing as how you fucked her life up the first go around by choosin' to rat out her husband instead of bein' a man and just tellin' him you were bangin' his wife..."

"Donald!" my mom hisses at him. "That isn't what happened and you know it!"

"Your son was playing free and easy with another guy's wife!" he argues.

"She wasn't just some random woman off of the street," she angrily interjects. "It was Bree-Anne and there was history between them and..."

"And what? And that gave him permission to just walk in and start screwin' her?"

"That isn't how it went down, dad," I feel the rage he never fails to instil in me begin to boil. "I didn't just walk in and take up with her. It was a legit relationship. She was going to leave him for me. Divorce him. We were going to be together. Until Dean went and..."

"Until you went and helped that bastard Taylor nail him," my father finishes for me. "You couldn't just let the department do their own dirty work? Or did you hand that logbook over 'cause you knew that it meant he'd be out of the way and you'd be in the clear to sweep the pretty little missus off of her feet? You figure it was easier to do it that way then just grow some balls and tell him you were seein' Bree-Anne?"

"I gave Mac my logbook 'cause he was going to subpoena me for it and I didn't..."

"I would have rather been subpoenaed for it them make myself look like a rat," my old man concludes. "And if that wasn't bad enough, you turn around and make things worse for yourself at the trial by letting everyone in the free world know you were dickin' the poor bastard's wife."

My chair scrapes noisily across the kitchen floor as I push myself away from the table. "You don't know what went down with Breezy and I," I keep my voice calm despite the fact I want to storm across the room and beat the living shit out of the bastard who doesn't deserve to be called dad.

"I know you were messin' around with another man's wife," he says. "Another cop's wife."

"It wasn't like that," I inform him, and laying a hand on the small of my mom's back, press a kiss to her cheek. "Thanks for dinner," I say.

"When you talk to Bree-Anne you'll let me know how it went?" she asks hopefully. "Because he is my grandson and I do want to get to know him. And I've always adored her and..."

"Let me take care of things, okay?" I tug playfully at her ponytail. "I'll talk to Breezy and work things out. No one is going to keep your grandbaby from you."

"I'm sorry," tears sparkle in my mother's eyes. "I know how hurt and angry you are about this. But I didn't mean to..."

I peck her forehead. "Don't worry about it, mom," I say, then head for the door to the sunroom. "I'll talk to Breezy. If you want me to, I can see if she'd bring Collin over here? Or maybe you can go over there?"

My mother smiles. "Either or. I'd like to spend time with him. With both of them."

I simply nod and reach for the handle on the door.

"Just leave them alone!" my father orders. "Just let Bree-Anne and her boy be! You've done enough! You've messed up her life once, why do it again?"

"He's my son dad," I respond, not bothering to turn around to address him, and my hand grips the handle so tight my knuckles turn white.

"And your son is better off not knowing you!" he declares. "He's better off not having a dad that's a snitch! A total embarrassment!"

Silence descends on the kitchen, and I close my eyes briefly and fight to get myself under control. My heart thunders in my chest and my entire body shakes from rage and hurt. But I'm determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing how bad he's wounded me. Admitting defeat is weak. I don't do weak. Instead, I compose myself the best I can, open my eyes and yank the door open.

"We didn't tell you because we figured the kid was better off not knowing you," my dad calls to me. "'Cause it's better he thinks his dad is a murderer than a rat. Leave them alone, Don. Don't ruin their lives more than you already have!"

I've heard enough. And before I do something I both regret and that ruins my chances of having a relationship with my son and Breezy, I steel myself against my father's malice. And stepping out into the sunroom, I slam the door furiously behind me.

* * *

**Massive thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! And just lurking! I appreciate all of the support!**

**Special thanks to:**

**CSINYMinute**

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**Raisin Cookies**

**Soccer-bitch**


	6. Breathe 2 AM

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS**

**USE OF ITALICS IN THIS CHAPTER DENOTES A DREAM**

**SO IT SEEMS AS IF THE SITE IS WORKING AFTER THE HEADACHE OF YESTERDAY, BUT IF YOU GUYS GET MORE THAN ONE ALERT FOR THIS, IT'S BECAUSE THINGS ARE STILL A BIT MESSED UP!**

* * *

**Breathe (2 am)**

"2 AM and she calls me 'cause I'm still awake,  
'Can you help me unravel my latest mistake?,  
I don't love him. Winter just wasn't my season'  
Yeah we walk through the doors, so accusing their eyes  
Like they have any right at all to criticize,  
Hypocrites. You're all here for the very same reason

'Here in town you can tell he's been down for a while,  
But, my God, it's so beautiful when the boy smiles."  
-Breathe (2 am), Anna Nalick

* * *

**_BREE-ANNE'S POV_**

_The grass is cold beneath my bare feet, and I can't resist brushing my toes through the lush, emerald green blades as the swing I'm perched on glides slowly back and forth. As the junior varsity football team continues to be put through the paces at their after school practice, I spent an hour and a half two hundred yards away from the action. As the players, separated into two different squads, run through plays and review what had went so disastrously wrong at the last game -it simply was not acceptable to the coaches, faculty and the entire city that we'd been steamrolled 45-10 when we have the best team in all of the boroughs- I bide my time at the playground that belongs to St. Joseph's Elementary. The kindergarten to grade eight school is practically on our back step, and the younger kids are separated from the teens by the chain link fence that encloses our football and soccer fields. And while the girlfriends of various players linger on the grass, watching the practice, gossiping, and laughing, I'm the only one that doesn't join in. I'm not 'welcome' with the in crowd. They've made that glaringly obvious since the Donnie and I started dating two months ago. I'm not like them. I'm not into cheerleading or hanging out at the mall on the weekend or indulging an underage drinking at house parties. I'm the geek. I'd rather spend time at home with my mom and dad or with my boyfriend and his family instead of being in a large group of people. I'm quiet and shy, an introvert. I bury my nose in my schoolwork and worry incessantly about my grades. I don't roll my kilt up so that it barely covers my ass and I rarely wear makeup, save for a some flavoured lip-gloss and a tad of blush. I get picked on for my red hair and the freckles that that dust my forehead, nose, chest and shoulders. I'm called everything from Ronald McDonald to Speckled Freak. The other girls talk about me when I walk by them in the hallway, their voices loud enough for me to hear as they call me Church Girl and Mother Teresa and estimate how long it will take me to lose my virginity. And if it will happen before I'm married and if any guy would be desperate enough to spend the rest of their life with me in the first place._

_When he's not getting into fights for defending my honour and spending an obscene amount of time in the principal's office, Donnie is always telling me that it's jealousy. That these girls are only being nasty because I have something they don't. And he's not talking about himself, either. Although for a fourteen year old, he's notoriously arrogant and cocky in a incredibly sexy way. He's always telling me that I have the whole package, while the others are nothing more than nice window dressing with no substance underneath. To him, I'm the most beautiful girl in the world. He constantly talks about my big brown eyes and the way they sparkle and how they, along with my nose, crinkle when I smile. He compliments me on my laugh and says it always cheers him up even on the crappiest days when his father comes home drunk and reigns shit down on his entire family. He makes me blush when he grazes his knuckles along my cheek and tells me how soft my skin is. And he always brings tears to my eyes when he runs his fingers through my thick, wavy hair, and whispers in my ear that it reminds him of the sunset. _

_Pretty deep and romantic for a kid that isn't even old enough to shave yet. And who hasn't really kissed me despite the little pecks we exchange when he shows up at my house in the morning to walk me to school, and when he drops me off again at the end of the afternoon. Our idea of intimacy is hugging, holding hands while walking down the street or in the hallways at school -or under a pillow we place between us while sitting on the couch watching television with my parents- and wrapping our arms around each other on the rare occasion. We're nowhere ready to even think about having sex. Although we've talked about it and while I've decided that I'm not going to wait until marriage like my parents have been drilling into me since I was old enough to talk, we've come to the mutual decision that neither of us is ready to take such a serious step. We're only fourteen and we've got a lot of time ahead of us to 'do the deed' as Donnie always calls it. _

_Although I won't lie and say that I don't want him to kiss me. Really kiss me. Like you read about in the romance novels and you see on the soap operas. Donnie's my first boyfriend. He's tall, dark and handsome, and he's probably the cutest guy I've ever seen. Well, save for the celebrities that are in those teeny-bopper magazines that mom always manages to sneak into the bags when she's goes grocery shopping and I have to hide under my mattress or tuck under clothes in my dresser so that my dad doesn't know I have them. He's already practically praying sun up and sun down to save my soul from eternal damnation because I have a boyfriend before his desired age of eighteen. I'm pretty sure that if he had his way, he'd keep me single until I was thirty and then he'd set up some kind of open audition for all virginal Catholic boys and then choose a suitable husband for me out of a shortened list of ten. _

_After six boys, I have the misfortune of being the only girl. I have no one before me to soften my dad up when it comes to dating and makeup. It was a battle just to get him to agree to getting my ears pierced, and he'd nearly fainted when I'd come home from my first date with Donnie and I'd gone ahead and gotten a second hole put in each lobe. I get the whole over protective, keeping an eye on his baby girl shtick that he has going on. I understand that I'm his princess and that he wants to keep me safe and sound. And relatively untarnished. But he doesn't give Donnie enough credit. His parents have raised him well. Underneath that macho, jock exterior, he's polite, soft-spoken, and so incredibly sweet to me. He always makes sure that after a date -if you can call McDonalds and a movie or mini golf a date- I get home with time to spare before my curfew hits. He writes me love notes and tucks them into my locker. They're mostly random thoughts he's come up with, but sometimes he decides to mix things up and go into the library and check out books featuring my favourite poets and then copy a quote or two down. He uses all of the money he makes delivering newspapers to buy me things. He'll show up at my house with flowers and candy and stuffed animals in hand, and he'd borrowed money off of his grandmother so that he could buy me the sterling silver charm bracelet that graces my right wrist. There are only two things that dangle from it so far. A 'D' and a 'B' to represent our first names. He'd called it a just because present. I'd gone out to grab the paper off of the front porch for my dad a couple of weeks ago and there, sitting in the midst of one of my mom's flower boxes, had been a teddy bear in an elaborate Victorian style gown and hat, with the charm bracelet wrapped around her neck._

_I am going to keep that bear forever. And I am determined that that bracelet will never leave my wrist._

_Donnie is my everything. I know that I'm in love with him. It's the way my stomach flutters whenever he smiles at me and the way I shiver when he pushes my hair away from my face or over my shoulders. It's that bolt of electricity that shoots through me whenever his lips touch mine, albeit way too brief for my liking. Or the way that I miss him when I go longer than twelve hours without seeing him and how my heart skips a beat when the telephone rings and I race to it in anticipation. _

_And I know that he feels the same way about me. It's evident in the gentle way he smiles at me when he thinks no one else is looking, the way his eyes will slowly search my entire face before they lock on my own and then seemingly burrow directly into my soul. It's how he tenderly holds my chin between a forefinger and thumb and then skims the later along my bottom lip. And most of all, his feelings are there in the feathery kisses and his constant concern for my well-being and my happiness. _

_We're kids, but we know what love feels like. Our love, at least._

_Maybe Donnie is right, I think as I skim my bare toes through the grass. Maybe all those other girls are__ just jealous of me. I mean, who wouldn't want to have a boyfriend like him?_

_I glance up from my hard cover novel - a collection of Robert Frost poems that my father had found in an antique store in midtown Manhattan- and look out towards the football field. Practice has ended, but the players have gathered in front of the coach as he holds a whiteboard and a marker and explains some new plays. Some of the guys sit on the grass sipping Gatorade and using towels to mop sweat from their brows and the backs of their necks, others are down one knee with their helmet in one hand as they dump bottled water over their heads with the other. Donnie's always easy to spot. He's nearly half a foot taller and a good thirty pounds heavier then the rest of the group. The coach and the principal had fought -in vain- to have him granted special permission to play on the senior team, citing that he was just too big and too strong to play with the other fourteen and fifteen year olds. He was manhandling opposing players on the field; doling out concussions, separated shoulders and busted collarbones because he simply didn't know his own strength. And he was fast. Exceptionally fast. My father always says that Donnie can run like the wind and jokes that he should go into business as a crook when he's older because he could easily out run any cop on the NYPD. _

_Donnie glances in my direction, and despite the distance that separates us, I can see his boyish and charming grin as he gives me a small wave. I love the way the corners of his eyes wrinkle and that dimple in his left cheek stands out._

_He's simply beautiful when he smiles. _

_There's a definite chill in the fall air, and a gust of wind both whips loose tendrils of hair against my face, and causes me to shiver and draw Donnie's hockey jacket tightly around my body. From the previous season on the NYPD's inter-league team -squads made up of sons, grandsons and nephews of officers- the navy blue leather jacket is weathered and faded and is nearly three sizes too large and falls well below my knees. But it's warm and comfortable, and his smell lingers on the fabric. The same as it does on the various jerseys he's given me that I wear as pyjamas. Much to my father's dismay._

_"You're going to catch pneumonia with no shoes or socks on!" my boyfriend's voice cuts through my thoughts, and I look up in tome to see him racing towards me. And before I can respond, he's upon me and grabs a hold of my calves and launches me backwards. Then holding me for several seconds above his head, lets me go before he scrambles out of the way._

_I give a shriek as I soar high above the ground, and I have to drop my book in order to clamp my hands around the swing's chains to keep me planted firmly in the seat. Donnie stands laughing behind me and keeps pushing me over and over again, amused by not only my initial surprise, but now my giggles and the shouts to push me higher and faster. I tip my head back and stare up at the brilliant blue sky and the enormous white clouds, revelling in the feel of the wind against both the bottom of my bare feet, and my flushed cheeks. And after several moments of enjoying the sensation of flying, I finally come back down to earth, the swing gradually slowing down before Donnie's large, strong hands fall on my hips and still my movements completely._

_I lean back as far as I can, knowing that he'll prevent me from toppling over. That no matter what, Donnie will never, ever let me fall. And I smile up at him, lost in those blue eyes that are as vibrant as the sky above us. He's still in his football gear -minus the helmet- and sweat glistens on his brow. His wavy black hair, cut short at the back and worn long at the top and sides, is matted to his head and there are patches of wet above his ears and at the nape of his neck. A handful of wayward locks tumble across his forehead and fall into his eyes._

_At that moment, I conclude that he's way better looking than any of those celebrities in my magazines at home. _

_"You're crazy," he declares, then leans down to brush my lips with his._

_"Maybe," I say, and wriggle my toes. "But who wants to be sane anyway?"_

_He grins, and then pecks my forehead before returning me to a sitting position. I watch as he journeys over to where my book had landed, picks it up and then carries it over, and tucks it into, my black and pink knapsack that sits next to my penny loafers and the dark blue knee high socks that go with my navy, green and yellow tartan kilt. _

_"You're all slimy and stinky," I declare, as he pulls off his jersey and his shoulder pads and sets them beside my belongings. Leaving him in just those tight pants, a t-shirt, socks and cleats. And I feel, and not for the first time either, that unmistakable, yet slightly terrifying, pang of teenage lust and desire stirring deep inside of me._

_"I thought you liked me that way," he teases, giving me that grin before taking a seat on the swing beside me; twisting it sideways to face me._

_"I like you all sorts of ways," I boldly retort. Then feel myself flush from head to toe._

_"You're so pretty when you blush Breezy," Donnie tells me with a chuckle. "Not that you aren't pretty all the time," he quickly adds. "'Cause you are, you know. Pretty all the times. You know how beautiful I think you are and how much I love you...," his cheeks turn bright red as he realizes what he just said. "I'll shut up now," he says sheepishly, and it's my turn to laugh._

_"Donald Flack Junior, you are so corny," I conclude, and twisting my swing sideways, lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek. "You are so cute when you get all flustered," I tell him, and tousle his hair. "I love all these different sides to you."_

_His eyes widen slightly at my own use of the L word, and for what seems like an eternity our eyes lock, as if we're each searching the other for confirmation of the declaration of love that we've both bestowed on each other. And then, when realization sets in that this is the real thing, that there's no mistaking it, he breaks out into a wide smile and reaches out to tuck my hair behind my ears. Then he takes one of my tiny hands in one of his much larger ones, and begins to swing slowly back and forth._

_"Do you ever wish I was different?" I ask._

_"In what way?" he responds with a question of his own._

_"Do you ever wish I wasn't so...I don't know...so me?"_

_"What's wrong with being you, Breezy?" he inquires. "I love you just the way you are."_

_"I'm just not like the other girls," I reply. "I'm not like your buddies girlfriends. I'm not a cheerleader, I don't play on any of the girls' sports teams, I don't show my ass off by rolling my kilt all the way up to God's creation, I don't wear makeup..."_

_"None of those things are bad," Donnie tells me. _

_"But I'm just not like them," I jerk my head in direction of the group of girls huddled tightly together on the side of the football field. "They're popular and gorgeous and I'm...."_

_"And you're beautiful and smart and everything that they're not," he interjects. "I'm with you because of who you are, Breezy. Because you're pretty and you've got an amazing brain to go with it. You're a good person with a huge heart and you make me feel...you make me feel like I'm a good person, too. You don't treat me like some stupid jock."_

_"That's because you're not," I tell him. "You're not stupid at all."_

_He rolls his eyes._

_"You're not," I insist. "You're smart and you're funny and you make me feel special. Like I'm the most incredible, beautiful girl in the entire world."_

_"That's because to me you are," Donnie says. "To me you're perfect, Breezy. I don't want girls like that. I want someone that I can talk to and who won't make me feel like a loser for having feelings and wanting to do more than play sports and hang out. All those girls?" he gestures towards the field with our joined hands. "They're nice to look at but that's it. They don't have anything else other than looks. And you..." he gives me a smile "...you're special and you're different and that's why I'm with you. I don't want you to be anything other than what you are."_

_"That's pretty prolific for a fourteen year old," I tease._

_"And that's a pretty big word for a fourteen year old," he jokes in return. "And besides...I'll be fifteen in January. That's only three months away. And nearly four whole months before you turn fifteen."_

_"Well pin a rose on your nose," I retort, and stick my tongue out at him._

_"Do you ever wish I was someone else?" he asks._

_"You mean other than Donnie Wahlberg from New Kids on the Block?" I chide. "Or his brother Marky-Mark?"_

_He frowns, causing his brow to furrow._

_"Oh so serious..." I laugh, and use my free hand to pat his cheek. "You keep scowling like that; your forehead will stay that way forever."_

_"I'm being serious, Breezy," he says. "Do you ever wish I was someone else?"_

_"Do you think I'd be with you if that was the case?" I challenge, and comb my fingers through his damp hair. "I'm not a stupid girl. I wouldn't be with some guy if I didn't really want to be. I'm not with you 'cause you're a jock and one of the most popular guys in school. I'm with you 'cause deep down you're sweet and kind and you're a good person, Donnie."_

_"But you're going to go on and do big things," he says. "You're going to graduate and go to university and..."_

_"We're only in grade nine!" I laugh. "Why rush things?"_

_"And you're going to do something awesome with your life. Like find a cure for cancer or become the first female president of the United States. And me? I'm going to be stuck here all my life. I'm going to be lucky to get out of here with straight Ds and then I'm going to end up just like my dad. A cop."_

_"Being a cop isn't a bad thing," I tell him. "Being a cop is dangerous and scary. It's...honourable."_

_Donnie snorts. "No one respects the cops around here. In the NYPD. No one takes them seriously."_

_"Well when, and if, you become a cop, maybe you'll be the one that will change things. One bad guy at a time."_

_"Maybe," he agrees with a sigh. "But you're not going to want anything to do with me. With a cop. Not someone like you."_

_"Someone's job doesn't define them," I inform him. "You're still Donnie at the end of the day. Just 'cause you wear a badge and gun...well when you walk back through the door when your shift is done, you're just Donnie again."_

_He smiles at that. _

_"I don't wish you were someone else," I assure him. "Because I love you just the way you are."_

_His smile broadens. _

_"Knobby knees, big feet and all," I add, and then giggle as he grabs a hold of the chains on my swing and yanks me into him, clamping my thighs tightly between his. "What are you doing?!" I shriek, when his hands reach for my kilt. "Are you crazy?"_

_"I'm not trying to get you naked in public, Breezy," he says. "I'm trying to fix something. Take it easy."_

_"But what....?" I watch, perplexed, as his big hands pop open the large, silver pin that holds my skirt closed._

_"Are we not a serious thing, Breezy?" he asks. "I mean, we're sitting here telling each other we love one another so that means we're serious, right?"_

_"Obviously," I reply. "But...."_

_"When girls have serious boyfriends in the same school as them they wear their pin like this..." he turns the item in question so that the front of it is facing into the centre of my kilt. "That means their boyfriend is in the same school and it's a steady type thing," he informs me, and one of his hands slides along my bare thigh, protecting my skin from being poked as he carefully pins my kilt back together. "See?" he asks, as his fingertips graze along my thigh and his other hand smoothes down my skirt. "That's how it should be worn."_

_I nod, chewing on my lip nervously as he slips his hand out from under my kilt and the sensation of his skin against mine causes me to shudder._

_"Are you cold?" he asks, completely oblivious. "I told you that taking your socks and your shoes off wasn't a good idea this close to Halloween. You know how cold it gets in October. Here, you wait and I'll go and get your things and..."_

_I grab a hold of the front of his t-shirt as he gets to his feet, and I yank him back down onto the swing aggressively._

_"Breezy....what....?" All words escape him as I stand up, and positioning myself between his thighs, lay my hands on his broad shoulders. _

_"I really want you to kiss me right now," I whisper._

_Donnie smiles, then reaches up to brush my hair away from my face before tangling his fingers in my tresses and pulling me down into him. His lips are warm and moist on mine, and what starts out as slow and tender, quickly turns into so much more as I feel the tip of his tongue parting my lips and pressing against my teeth. And though startled at first, I respond eagerly and willingly, my mouth opening to his and my knees nearly buckling as my tongue makes contact with his. It's honestly the most erotic moment of my young life._

_Up until then, at least._

_We're both breathless when he finally pulls away. Our chests are heaving and our hearts are hammering, and I reach up to move a strand of hair off of his forehead._

_"I love you," he tells me, with as much intensity and sincerity as a fourteen-year-old can possess. "I'll always love you, Breezy."_

_"I'll always love you too," I say, and lean into him for another kiss. _

* * *

I wake up with a start. Gasping noisily, I bolt into a sitting position and lay a hand over my racing heart. Sweat beads on my forehead and trickles down the back of my neck, and my stomach contorts and twists into a thousand different knots as I grip the comforter in my free hand and struggling to get both my body, and my emotions, under control. It's not the first time in the past three years that I've had a dream about Donnie. Although up until this night, most of my forays into memories have either been about the fight that we had in that back hallway at the courthouse -with a different outcome, of course- or have been of more intimate times that have left me hungry and aching with need when I've snapped back to reality. I've never once had a dream about our high school years. When things were so much simpler. Easier. Less complicated. Pure and innocent, if you will. Long before we were cruelly ripped apart, first by my quest for post secondary education, and then again by my ex husband.

I'm still reeling from seeing Donnie again. It was unexpected and shocking to have him turn up in my front yard after everything that's gone down between us. We had left each other standing outside of that court room following my emotional breakdown on the stand and neither of us had swallowed our pride long enough to apologize and to attempt to rebuild the crumbled bridge that separated us. The pain of the last three years rest squarely on both of our shoulders. Either of us could have taken the first step to reconciliation, yet neither had had the courage to do so. And soon the days had turned into weeks, and the months had turned into years, and before long all that had remained was wonderful memories sandwiched in between the trying and difficult times.

But Donnie's pain now is all my fault. I have knowingly kept Collin from him and despite my prior reasons for doing so, I feel foolish. And evil. My intentions had been honourable. I'd wanted to protect Donnie from the scandal that the existence of a love child with Dean Truby's estranged wife would cause him. I had already heard about the horrible things that the other cops were saying around the department because he'd done the right thing by helping Dean pay for what he'd done to Kym Tanaka. Guys were calling him a rat and many other worse things, and I knew that by bringing Collin into his life, chances were that I'd only make things worse for him. Being a cop was in his blood. It was what he excelled at and what he strived to be the best at, and I couldn't prevent him from achieving greatness by inflicting even more distress on him.

And I'd had to protect my child. Collin was my baby and I was scared of the kind of harassment we'd both face if word got out that he was Donnie's. After the news of our affair had been made public knowledge at Dean's trial, I'd been subjected to menacing phone calls, nasty letters shoved in my mail box, and verbal threats made towards me and my unborn child. And I knew after Collin was born and after that test had come back to show that Dean wasn't his father, that I had to do whatever possible to protect my son. For the rest of his life if possible.

So I'd lied. I'd lied to my parents, lied to Dean, and lied to my son. I had simply reacted. Horrifically in fact. Bending to fear and the maliciousness of a select few instead of standing up for what I believed in and who I loved.

And I'm going to pay for that. I'm sure of it. Maybe Donnie showing up earlier wasn't a sign of a possible future for us. Maybe what it really signified was the beginning of the end. A come-uppance. God getting ready to toss a little payback my way.

"Bree-Anne…" Phil mumbles beside me, as he rolls over onto his side and studies me with heavy lidded, weary eyes. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

I nod and rake my hand through my messy hair. Casting a glance at the bedside clock, I groan inwardly as the red illuminated lights on the clock radio advertise the time as quarter after two.

"Bad dream?" my boyfriend asks, and props himself up on his elbow.

"No…" I whisper in return and shake my head. "It was a good dream…a very good dream…I just…I need something to drink…"

"It's really late, baby," Phil says, and underneath the comforter, reaches out to rub my bare thigh. "Or really early if you want to look at it that way. Lie back down. Get some sleep."

"I can't…" I sigh heavily, and shiver despite myself when his fingertips glide slowly along my flesh. "I just need to…"

"I think I know what you need," his eyes sparkle up at me and he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "The perfect sedative. An incredible orgasm never fails to knock you out for a bit."

He's right about that. Sex, and the end result, have always been the perfect drugs for me. Not that I've had a hell of a lot experience in that department. Donnie, Dean, and now Phil. Hardly a lengthy list.

"Lie back down," Phil gently orders, as his one hand emerges from under the blankets to lift the bottom of the tank top I'd managed to yank on after our love making hours before.

I feel his fingertips as they graze against my stomach, and I am unable to control the shudder that erupts through me as the tip of his tongue travels along my side.

"I need to…" I squeak out. "I need to…"

"Trust me, I know what you need," he says, and reaches up in an attempt to yank me down.

"Hold that thought!" I exclaim, as I manage to wriggle out of his grasp and slip out of bed. "I need to…I need a drink and I need to go to the bathroom and…"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Phil asks. "Seriously, Bree-Anne? Are you kidding me?"

"Ten minutes," I promise, as I snag my pyjama bottoms off the bedroom floor and slip into them. "I'll be back in ten minutes."

"And no later," he tells me, and flops onto his back. "The minute you get back? Well the minute you get back we're denting that wall with the head board."

I ignore that comment and hurrying from the room; I close the door softly behind me and pad softly down the hall to the stairs. I'm a woman on a mission. I know what I want, who I want and how to get both of them. And I'm determined that this time around, nothing, or no one, is going to stand in my way.

I rush down the stairs and make my way into the kitchen. And working by the light of the moon as it streams through the patio door, I rummage through the stacks of bills and discarded fliers and newspaper as I search for the purple and pink stripped address book that I always keep on the kitchen table. Locating it, I flip the back cover open and a business card tumbles to the cluttered tabletop.

I toss the book aside and pick up that small piece of white cardboard. My eyes are riveted on the name that's printed there, and my thumb travels slowly over the raised black ink.

"It's time," I whisper into the depths of night, and then cross the kitchen and grab the cordless phone off the top of the fridge.

And as my fingers linger briefly over the buttons, I realize that I've never been so terrified of anything in my entire life.

* * *

**Huge thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and just plain lurking! I appreciate each and every one of you!**

**Special thanks to:**

**CSINYMinute**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Andorian Ice Princess - AiP**

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**Monoxide Lullaby**

**Soccer-bitch**


	7. Broken

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS.**

**THANKS TO EVERYONE THAT IS ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVES!**

* * *

**BROKEN**

"The broken locks were a warning  
You got inside my head  
I tried my best to be guarded  
I'm an open book instead

And I still see your reflection  
Inside of my eyes  
That are looking for purpose  
They're still looking for life

I'm falling apart  
I'm barely breathing  
With a broken heart  
That's still beating

In the pain  
(In the pain)  
Is there healing?  
In your name  
(In your name)  
I find meaning

So I'm holding on  
(I'm still holding)  
I'm holding on  
(I'm still holding)  
I'm holding on  
(I'm still holding)  
I'm barely holding on to you

I'm hanging on another day  
Just to see what you will throw my way  
And I'm hanging on to the words you say  
You said that I will be okay

Broken lights on the freeway  
Left me here alone  
I may have lost my way now  
I haven't forgotten my way home."  
-Broken, Lifehouse

* * *

**_FLACK'S POV_**

Quarter after two in the morning and I'm still awake.

Clad in a pair of simple white boxers, I'm sprawled the length of my couch with a forearm tossed over my eyes and an uncapped, yet untouched bottle of Jack Daniels sitting on the floor within reaching distance. The chunks if ice inside of the plastic tumbler that sits on the coffee table have long ago melted; a small puddle of water both securing the cup to the wood surface and seeping underneath the stacks of discarded mail and magazines that lay strewn nearby. I'd caved to temptation and had picked up the liquor on my way back from Queens, and I'd been ready to drink myself into a stupor in a vain attempt to both escape from my demons and cope with the stress of the life. Until I'd twisted the cap off the bottle and one whiff of the alcohol had turned my stomach. I was immediately disgusted by my moment of weakness, and I'd resorted to downing a gallon of milk to rid my mouth of the bitter taste that the altercation with my father had left me with.

The television provides the only illumination in the living room and ESPN is showing the same sports highlights that I've been attempting to take interest in for the past five hours. I can't concentrate on a movie or a sitcom, I've tried reading but my mind quickly wanders and then when I'm jolted back to reality, I find I'm going over the same paragraph several times. My stomach is knotted so tight I can't possibly eat, and my overactive brain insists on warding off any form of rest. Instead, I lie in the confines of my lonely, humid apartment; my body coated in a thin sheen of sweat and the temperature nearly unbearable. The air conditioner hit the skids two weeks ago during a rare early July cold snap -if you can consider a constant daytime high of eighty five cold- and I haven't gotten around to either attempting to fix the damn thing, or replacing it all together. The last few days however have been sweltering around the clock, and even with all of the windows tossed open, relief from the heat remains futile.

After I'd left my folks' house -still reeling from the attack my father had launched on me- instead of heading back into the city I'd driven the two blocks to Breezy's house and had travelled up and down her block several times -mortified by my startling new found obsession with her and her life and cursing myself for being nothing short of a stalker- before I'd finally pulled into an empty driveway across the street. Killing the ignition, I'd spent an indiscernible amount of time sitting there, watching the front of the house, desperate for even a glimpse of her and Collin, and contemplating my next move. The angry, bitter side of me wanted revenge. It screamed at me to go home and find a ruthless, no holds barred lawyer that would get the ball quickly rolling on legal proceedings. The vicious asshole in me wanted to hurt her as badly as she had hurt me, and securing custody of my son and ripping him away from her would be the perfect way of achieving that.

But the rational side of me -the one that was still desperately in love with and wanted nothing more than to be with her so we could raise our little family together- insisted that I needed to keep a level head. That while it was acceptable to be stunned and hurt about her actions, getting nasty wasn't the way to handle things. I needed to hear Breezy out; listen to all of her explanations, reasons and apologies. And that in turn, I had a hell of lot of make up for myself. Reacting out of shock, hurt and anger wasn't going to do any of us any good. I've already lost her twice in my life and spent two and a half years away from my boy. Too much time has been wasted and I'm not going to make the same mistakes again.

The same cruel twist of fate that had torn Jess away from me had sent me to Breezy's for forgiveness. I had to believe that there was something powerful and all knowing that had caused me to see the light. That maybe Jess had a hand in things and was steering me in the right direction. Her death and the actions I'd taken to avenge it had made me realize that there were things I'm my life I needed to repent for. A chapter that had never been quite finished. And maybe, just maybe, Jess' death was serving as the starting point for a new life for me. One that I had missed out on years ago. From beyond the grave, my girlfriend had led me to Breezy's house and to my son. Jess is, in some creepy, alternate universe way, telling me that I need to get my shit together. That I need to give myself a chance to move on with my life. With the one person that holds the power to both save, and destroy me.

The latter had nearly happened when I'd caught sight of Breezy and her boyfriend together. Moments away from getting out of the car to head across the street to claim what I felt was rightfully mine, I'd spied her front door opening through the rear view mirror, and just as my spirits had soared at the thought of a brief glimpse of her and Collin, they'd come crashing down when she'd stepped out onto the front porch. Hand in fucking hand with Phil. A sour taste had crept up in my throat when I'd noticed that they were both in different sets of clothes then they'd had been earlier, and that their hair was wet, obviously just having had showers. I couldn't bear to think of them having one together, or allow my imagination to conjure up images of what they'd been up to the entire time I was parked across the street. And I watched as she'd walked him to his car -I was hoping that he was leaving for the night, so that I'd get the chance to go over there and talk to her alone, but he'd returned twenty minutes later- and then kissed him goodbye…well that had made me sick to my stomach.

And had been my cue to leave. It was quite obvious that while she'd been relieved and happy to see me, that she'd gone on with her life and wasn't about to entertain any thoughts of us getting back together. That my mission was no longer was no longer one of recovery. Whatever we'd had was over. There'd be no reconciling, no living happily ever after and raising a family in a house behind a white picket fence. From that moment on, we would co-exist solely as Collin's parents and nothing more. And Phil…well I saw red when I thought about him not only being intimate with Breezy, but having a hand in raising my son. The guy was a douche. A fucking douche as a matter of fact. And if it's the last thing I ever do in my life, I am going to make damn sure that Phil and Breezy never end up together. Whether or not I end up with her, all I know is that prick will not stake claim on what should be my family.

Giving a frustrated groan, I remove my forearm from over my eyes and run my hands over my weary face. I need a shower and a shave. And sleep. The clock is slowly and agonizingly ticking towards the start of another day, and seven in the morning comes damn early. It's a mere five hours away, and the thought of having to bust my ass once that alarm clock goes off to clean myself up, dress and head for the precinct does little to lift my spirits. In fact, I'm seriously considering calling the duty captain now and telling him that I'm not coming in. That I've been stricken with some kind of mysterious ailment that has made me horrifically ill and it nearly impossible for me to raise my head from the pillow, let alone come in to work. Save for the odd day I've missed during the outbreak of Blue Flu last year and when I was off recuperating from the bombing, I've been a stellar employee. And I definitely deserve some time to recuperate from quite possibly the worst kind of sick.

The one that comes with a side order of unrequited love.

My cell phone, resting on the top of a stack of old, dust-covered magazines on the coffee table, suddenly springs to life; the shrill ring ear splitting in the eerie silence of my apartment. Groaning my displeasure, I massage my tired eyes with the palms of my hands before forcing myself up into a sitting position. Muttering profanities and cursing who I am assuming is dispatch. Despite the fact that I'm not technically on call, a shortage of detectives due to illness and summer holidays prompted a memo to be circulated stating that regardless of your on/off status, you were to 'expect the unexpected'. And prepare for a hell of a lot of overtime. I'm in no goddamn shape to go into work. Physically I'm at the top of my game; emotionally I'm a disastrous wreck. And as I lean forward and snag my cell phone off of the coffee table, there's a dozen possible excuses running through my head that I can give dispatch for not being able to take the call.

I press the talk button without even glancing at the call display and put the phone to my ear. "Flack," I give my customary greeting with something a little extra tossed in for good measure. A tad of aggravation and a whole lot of 'fuck you' pouring out of my voice.

Silence emanates from the other end, and it hits me that maybe this is the start of my own 333 stalker fiasco. That some of Mac's apparently constant bad luck -between him and Danny, the two of them have enough crap happen to them to last the entire crime lab a lifetime- has found its way over to me. Although, it's not the first time I've considered the possibility that a perp who feels as if I've wronged them might one day come looking for revenge. Or that my secret regarding Simon Cade's death might leak out and someone close to him will try to make me pay for what I did.

After they play with me a for a while that is.

I strain my ears to hear something, anything, coming from the caller save for soft, rhythmic breathing. Despite this show down feeling as if its lasted an eternity, in reality less than a minute has passed. And just as I open my mouth to demand to be told who the hell they are and what the hell they want, a voice suddenly emits from the other end of the phone. Soft and sweet, yet possessing enough power to take my breath away and render me speechless. The memories that come in hand with that voice are like an iron clad fist; clenching viciously around my heart.

"You always have been a grumpy bear right when you wake up," Breezy teases me.

A lump forms in my throat and as tears threaten, I clamp my eyes shut. I curse myself for being so weak, for being so emotionally fragile. I'm always the stalwart one. The brick wall that people rely on to keep them from falling apart. The one who, while empathetic to the struggles and suffering of others, is able to put up a barrier or sorts in order to protect himself and those that mean the most to him.

But I couldn't protect Jess. And there was no one there to protect Simon Cade from me. And it's an unsettling, terrifying thought to know that I'm capable of losing all control of myself. That I can't even trust myself to distinguish between right and wrong anymore.

"Donnie?" Breezy's voice cuts through my reverie. "Are you there?"

"I'm here," I manage, and grabbing the tumbler off of the coffee table, take a swig of the water that the melted ice cubes have left behind. The cold liquid burns my throat, and does little to strip away the emotion that is threatening to choke me.

"I'm sorry I woke you up," she says. "I know that it's really, really late. Or really, really early depending on how you want to look at it. You were probably fast asleep 'cause you have to go into work soon and I…"

"I was awake," I assure her. "I've been having trouble sleeping since…" I allow my words to trail off.

Truth be told, I haven't managed a decent night's sleep since being released from the hospital following the bombing five years ago. The doctors call it 'phantom pain'. The seemingly constant burning sensation afflicting the entire left hand side of my body. They reminded me that sometimes a body never fully heals, especially one that had it's chest cracked open and pieces of a bomb removed from their cardiac wall, and a severed artery in its stomach repaired. But they also keep telling me that post traumatic stress disorder could be a cause of my 'issues' as well. The department shrink I saw for a month after Jess' death -I'd been expected to go for a few months, but four weeks into the bullshit I'd pulled the plug on the idea- had told me that her shooting, and the way I'd clamped my hand over the bullet wound in her stomach in an attempt to keep her alive long enough to get her to the hospital, had brought out all the memories of the suffering following the bombing. That every painful, agonizing moment I'd physically been through had manifested in my mind and had reared their collective ugly heads following Jess' untimely demise.

Crazy ass shit, as far as I was concerned. I didn't need some whack-job with a medical degree telling me why I was an emotional basket case. Why I could go from a broken man to a cold hearted, distant sonofabitch. An insomniac with the penchant of experiencing anxiety attacks at that. I didn't need someone tossing in their two cents on why I turned to the bottle and the comfort of random women. Everyone around me had assumed that my behaviour was solely centered around losing my girlfriend. Danny was the only one who knew what the real deal was. That I was not only grieving for Jessie, but that my conscience was reeking havoc on me as well.

"Are you okay?" Breezy asks, concern evident in her voice. "I know that you used to have problems sleeping when we were together, Donnie. Are you still having those dreams?"

I sigh and placing the cup down on the table, rake a hand through my hair. Remembering the many nights when I'd bolt awake, the blankets tangled around my legs and my chest heaving as my lungs fought to draw breath, my entire body trembling and coated in a layer of cold sweat. Breezy would already be wide awake and comforting me, and I can still feel her hand on my back and running through my hair as she tried her best to comfort me. I can still hear her soft, reassuring whispers and feel the feathery kisses she placed across my shoulders. And it remains a mystery to me even know how she ever managed to calm me down so quickly and effortlessly.

"No more dreams," I reply. "I just…I still have a hard time sleeping. Only now it's not because I can't get through the night. It's 'cause I can't fall asleep in the first place."

"I wish there was something I could do to help," she says. And it's on the tip of my tongue to tell her that the only thing that's going to not only heal, but save me as well, is having her back in my life. She deserves so much more than that. So much more than me. A weary and fractured man who can barely take care of himself most days, let alone someone else.

"I'm fine," I assure her, and use my forearm to clear the sweat off of my brow. "Are you okay?" I ask, anxious to change the subject. I don't know how much she actually knows about Jess. When Breezy and I were together -or should I say when she was married to Dean- she'd met Jess several times and they were acquaintances at best. Meeting each other through Breezy's visits to the precinct and grabbing cups of coffee together if Dean was late getting off shift. I'm pretty sure that Breezy had heard about Jessie's shooting. It had been nationwide news, after all.

"Yeah…I'm fine…" she replies, then stifles a yawn. "I just…I can't sleep either…too much on my mind, I guess."

I nod, regardless of the fact that she can't see me.

"I don't even know why I'm calling," Breezy admits. "I mean, I know why. I know that there's things that I need to say to you and I know there's probably a lot of things you want to ask me. And that you're probably just waiting to snap on me completely…."

"Why would I do that?" I ask, as I stretch out on the couch once again.

"Because of Collin," she answers. "Because less than twelve hours ago you found out that you had a son. A son that I never bothered to tell you about you. That I kept from you. And I know that you're furious about that, Donnie."

"You're right, I am," I admit. "But me being pissed at you isn't going to solve anything, is it. It's not going to turn back the clock and give us back the last three years of our lives. It's not going to give me all that time back. Life's too damn short to hate you for doing what you thought was best for you and Collin."

"But do you?" she asks, nervousness in her voice. "Hate me for keeping Collin from you?"

"I could never hate you," I tell her. "We've known each other since we were fourteen. Since we were kids. You know me better than I know myself half the time. After everything we've been through and everything that's gone down between us, I could never hate you. I l…." I stop myself before the word can come tumbling out of me. "I miss you," I say instead. "I've missed you so much Breezy."

"I've missed you too, Donnie," she responds. "And I've missed you calling me that."

"I'm sorry that…" I sigh heavily and struggle to find the proper words to express the regret that is suffocating me. "I'm sorry that I let you down," I finally say. "I told you that I'd always protect you and that I'd always take care of you. No matter what. I told you that it would always be me and you and that I'd come back for you and that we'd be together and I…I never made good on that, Breezy. And I don't have a reason why. I don't have an explanation for why I didn't keep my promise. I just…I just didn't. As lame and pathetic as that sounds."

"Is that why you came to see me today?" she inquires. "To tell me that?"

"I told myself that it was time to make amends for the shitty things I've done in my life. And you were the only one on my list and I didn't want to live the rest of my life having all of that regret inside of me. I didn't want to constantly wonder about you. I didn't want to have what I did to you on my conscience. I wanted to see you again and tell you what a mistake I made. That I realize what a fuck up I am and that I…"

"You hurt me," she gently interjects. "You were my forever, my knight in shining armour and you hurt me, Donnie. I believed in you. I believed in us. And when you never came back for me…"

"I wanted to come for you," I tell her. "I did. I just…things got so messy in the precinct, Breezy. Things got messy and nasty and you were pregnant and I didn't want you going through any of that. I didn't want anyone raining any shit done on you. I loved you too much to put you through that. And when things finally did die down and I felt like it was the right time for us…."

"It felt like it was too late to do anything about it," she finishes for me.

"An entire year had gone by since that day in the court house," I tell her. "You were a mommy by then and I didn't want…I guess I didn't want to take that away from you…." I sigh heavily. "I know that this all sounds stupid to you. That it's probably the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard. But it's the only explanation I have. I've got nothing else."

"I don't need anything else," she concludes, her voice just above a whisper. "It's…it's enough…or almost enough, anyway."

"That's a start," I say, as relief surges through me. "And Collin…"

"I never should have kept him from you," she interrupts, and she sounds very close to tears. "I never should have lied to everyone that Dean was his father. When that DNA test came back to say that he wasn't, I panicked, Donnie. I freaked out because I'd already screwed your life up so bad…"

"No, Breezy…" my voice is calm, tender. "You never screwed anything up."

"I was worried that when people found out that the baby was yours…well I was worried that things would just get worse for you within the department and I didn't want to stand in your way of doing great things. I didn't want to slow down your career and ruin your reputation anymore than I already had and I…"

"You were more important to me then the department," I inform her. "You were always more important to me than the job. You still are, Breezy. I'd do anything for you. Even now. Whatever you need me to do, whatever you need from me; I'll do it. Anything for you. Anything for my son."

"I don't deserve that," she says sadly. "Not after what I did to you."

"You were protecting me," I tell her. "And you were protecting yourself and Collin. You were protecting our son, Breezy. I can't hold that against you. It hurts like hell that you did it and I had to find out by chance, but I can't fault you for wanting what was best for all of us. And at the time…at the time it seemed like your only choice. And I get that. I know all about making a choice. A split second decision. You did what you had to do. Just like I…" my voice trails off again. "Just know that I don't hate you. I could never hate you."

"I'm sorry, Donnie…." she sniffles noisily. "I never meant to hurt you like this."

"We both hurt each other," I conclude. "And maybe…well maybe this our chance to help heal each other, too."

"Maybe," she says. "And maybe we…I don't know…maybe some day we'll be whole again."

"Together?" I ask boldly. "Or separately?"

She sighs. "I honestly don't know," she admits.

"Something led me back to you, Breezy," I tell her. "I don't know what or who it was, but something brought me to your house and something told me that seeing you again was the right thing to do. And I can't argue with that. I can't argue with that little voice inside of my head that's telling me that me and you…that me and you are the only thing that makes sense out of this entire God awful shitty mess I've made of my life."

* * *

Silence descends upon us, and I kick myself in the ass for being so forward about things. Taking the lack of response from her end that I've made a huge mistake. That I've seriously overestimated whatever exists still between us.

"Donnie, what is going on?" she asks finally. Proving that even after our time apart, she has the uncanny ability to delve deep inside of me. To read between the lines. She knows that there's more to why I showed up at her house. And she knows that I'm not telling her the entire story when it comes to my life, and my sudden urge for repentance.

"Nothing," I reply. "Nothing is going on. I'm just tired. I'm just tired and talking a lot of nonsense and…."

"Bullshit," she snaps. "I know you. I know when something is eating at you. And for the record, you and me? We're not nonsense. We never have been."

I can't help but smile at that.

"Please tell me what's going on," she pleads. "I know there's more to it, Donnie. I know there's something bothering you. I know that there's something inside of you that you're desperate to get rid of."

"I can't tell you," I say, with great reluctance. "Not yet. It's just too soon, there's someone else involved, and I need to protect him. He's got a wife and a kid and if it ever got out and people found out he knew…he's my best friend, Breezy."

"Danny?" she asks. "Danny Messer?"

They'd met a few times during our relationship, and Danny had been our one-man cheering section during both our entire affair, and the chaos that ensued during the trial. He never once judged either of us or told me that I was making a huge mistake getting involved with Breezy. He understood my inability to stay away from her. The bond that existed between us since we were just kids. And he knew that I felt obligated to take care of her, to rescue her from the mess that Dean was making out of her life. And it's been Danny who, over the past three years, that has constantly reminded me at rare, unexpected moment, of everything that I let slip away. I honestly don't think he's ever really forgiven me for screwing my life so badly.

"Something happened," I tell her. "Something happened and Danny's the only one who knows about it. And if it ever got out…if it ever got out we'd both lose everything, Breezy. And he has way more to lose than I do. A wife, a kid…"

"You have Collin," she reminds me. "And you have me too, Donnie. You've always had me."

Tears threaten at her honest, sincere words. "I'm afraid to tell you," I admit. "I'm afraid that once I tell you, that once you know….in this job there's always people out there looking for revenge. And you never know when one of them is going to come and try and collect. And if you know….if you know then that puts you at risk, too. And I can't…I can't take that chance. I can't put a target on you. Or Collin."

"Is this about that drug gang?" she asks. "The one that you were in the papers for busting?"

"No. This is something else. Something that happened last year," I reply.

"Something to do with Jessica Angell?" she inquires, and I'm slightly surprised the mention of my deceased girlfriend's name doesn't cause my chest to constrict once again. "I thought that they caught the people that were responsible for what happened," Breezy continues. "I thought the guy who shot her is dead. That he was killed by the police."

"He was," I confirm. "I'm the one that…." I want to tell her. I want to purge my soul so goddamn bad. There's never been anyone in this world, not even Danny, that I've trusted in the way that I trust Breezy. And I know that no matter how grave the secret, she's the last person in the world who would betray me. I squeeze my eyes shout and fight back the nausea that threatens inside of me.

"Donnie…please…please just tell me," she encourages. "What happened? What's happened to you that you're like this? You're scaring me and I…."

"I killed him," I blurt out. "I was chasing him and I caught up to him and he was wounded and down on his back and his gun was close by and he went to reach for it and I…."

"So it was self defence," Breezy says. "You shot him to save yourself."

"No," I shake my head. "No. It wasn't like that. He was already injured. I could have just kicked his gun away and then arrested him. That's what I'm trained to do in circumstances like that. I'm trained to apprehend, subdue and arrest. And I'd already done the first two. He was down and he was no longer a threat and I…I killed him Breezy," my voice cracks and finally, after an entire year, the tears finally come. My confession and my guilt surging out of me. "I stood above him and I shot him. Point blank. And afterwards? Afterwards I felt nothing. I didn't feel sick; I didn't feel sorry. I felt…I felt nothing."

Breezy gives a shaky sigh and silence once again falls over us. I know that she's shocked; my confession has rocked her. I also know she's struggling trying to find the right words to say next. And I honestly wouldn't blame her if she hung up out of sheer disgust and disappointment.

"And I'm still not sorry," I add. "I'm not sorry that I shot him, but at the same time it won't leave me alone Breezy. That moment…that moment when I stood above him, I looked in his eyes, and I pulled the trigger…it haunts me. I can still feel the sweat trickling down my back and I can still feel it on my forehead. I can still hear my heart pounding in my chest and I can still see him looking up at me. I don't know if he was challenging me to do it or if he was asking me to not do it. But he never said anything and I…I can still hear the gunshot. I can't stop thinking about it. I can't get it out of my mind."

"I wish I was there with you," Breezy finally pipes up. "I wish I was there with you then and afterwards and I wish I was there with you now."

"I wish you were here too," I say, and clear the tears off of my face with my forearms.

"God Donnie…." she takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. "I wish that there was something I could do for you. To help you. To make this all go away."

"I need you," I admit. "I've always needed you. And I know that I seem weak and pathetic and…"

"You seem human," she corrects. "You're a human being, Donnie. Just because you carry a badge and gun…for Godsakes you're still a human."

"You're the only one I've told," I tell her. "Danny only knows 'cause he was the first person I saw coming out of that bioler room and he was able to figure it out himself. You're the only person I've told all this to."

"I'll never tell anyone," she promises. "I swear to you that I will never, ever tell anyone. And anything you need, Donnie. Anything. I haven't been around in three and a half years nearly but I'm here now and I…"

"I love you," I interject. "I love you so much. I've always loved you."

"I…." she pauses briefly. "That's something we're going to have to talk about," she finishes. "And we're going to have to talk about Jess and…"

"I don't want to talk about Jess," I say. "I've spent an entire year talking about Jess. I need to….I need to let her rest in peace now. She deserves that. I _owe _her that."

"I went to the funeral home," Breezy admits. "When I'd heard about her death on the news I'd called your precinct and found out where she was and what day and time her visitations were at. I know that we weren't the best of friends or anything, but she was always so sweet and nice to me and we always laughed and had fun when we did get together."

"You were there?" I ask, unable to wrap my head around that piece of information.

"I was there on the Friday night. The night they had the little memorial service in the funeral home chapel," Breezy replies. "I was late getting there and the place was packed and I had to stand at the back. And I saw you. At the front. I guess it was her father and her brothers you were with?"

"It was," I confirm.

"I asked someone what you were doing up there and they told me that you and Jess had been together," she adds.

"Why didn't you come up and say something to me?" I inquire. "Why didn't…?"

"I didn't feel it was the right time and place for that, Donnie," Breezy replies. "Out of respect for Jess I didn't. With our history and what has always existed between us I just didn't think it was appropriate. That night was about her. And I didn't want to take that moment away from her. Or from her family. Or from you."

I sniffle noisily. "Thank you," I say sincerely.

"I won't lie and say that it wasn't hard to stay away," she tells me. "Because it was. I knew you were hurting and I wanted so badly to go to you and say something. But I just couldn't do that to Jess."

I clear my throat noisily and nod my head in understanding.

"Are you okay?" Breezy asks. "After telling me all of that? Are you okay?"

"I will be," I reply.

"I really do wish I could be there with you, Donnie. I wish I'd been there for the last three and a half years."

"You were," I tell her. "You were always with me, Breezy."

"I'm sorry," she sounds on the verge of tears. "For everything. I'm sorry about Jessie. I'm sorry for what you're going through over shooting that guy. And I'm sorry about Collin."

"I know you are," I grab the tumbler once again and down the rest of the water. "It's getting late," I say. "You've got a little one to get up with. I bet he's an early riser, too."

"He is," she responds. "And he's a miserable shit just like you first thing in the morning."

I chuckle at that. "I want to see you," I tell her. "I need to you see you."

"I want to see you too," she says. "There's a lot we need to talk about."

"One step at a time," I conclude.

"I guess that's the only way to do it," she agrees. "I don't know what your schedule is like, but mine is pretty open."

"I've got Friday and Saturday off," I tell her. "I can meet you somewhere? If you want…"

"Friday at noon?" she asks hopefully. "At the playground we used to hang out at all the time?"

"St. Josephs?" I ask, a smile slowly spreading across my face. "First time we ever really kissed? On the swings?"

"That would be the place," she replies. And I can tell she's smiling too.

"If I do recall correctly, I think we desecrated that slide at night a couple of times our senior year," I add, and she gives an embarrassed laugh.

"You certainly had this strange effect on me back then," she says.

"I probably still do. Give it some time. You'll find out soon enough."

"Donald Anthony Flack Junior," she giggles. "I see time has done nothing to diminish the size of your ego."

"And I see you've still got the great comebacks," I laugh. "You've always been too quick for me, Bree-Anne Margaret Tr…."

"It's Douglas again," she tells me, before the last name can escape. "I went back to my maiden name."

"Good," I say. "'Cause Truby was a pretty lame last name."

"That's putting it nicely," she gives a derisive snort. "So Friday? Noon hour?"

"By the kissing swings," I confirm.

"Stop it," she laughs.

"Maybe if I'm a good boy, we can pretend we're fourteen again," I tease.

"We'll see about that," she responds. "But for now? I need sleep."

"And I need to at least try and get some."

"Well hopefully I've helped just a little bit," Breezy says. "And I'm being serious, Donnie. Anything you need, just tell me okay?"

"I will," I assure her. "And thank you. Not just for that but…well for a lot of things. For listening to me and for saying what you did about Jessie. I appreciate it."

"I know you do. And I hope it makes you feel a bit better."

"It does," I say. "And thank you for Collin. For my son."

"He's the greatest gift you could have ever given me," Breezy declares. "I should be thanking you."

A smile curves my lips. "We did pretty good," I say.

"We did amazing," she corrects. "Good night, Donnie."

"Good night," I say in return, the words 'I love you' on the tip of my tongue once more.

"See you soon," Breezy tells me, and disconnects the call.

"Not soon enough," I say, and press END on the cordless phone in my hand. Tossing it onto the coffee table, I place my hands behind my head and close my eyes. A tremendous weight has been lifted off of my shoulders now that I've confessed about killing Simon Cade. And while I'll always struggle with what I did, I can only hope and pray that the moment I pulled the trigger will stop haunting me.

The emptiness in my heart is slowly filling up again. With promise and hope for the future. I can see a light at the end of the very long, very dark tunnel. Breezy's back in my life. I've been given not only the chance to reconnect with her again, but to be part of my son's life.

There's really only one person I can thank for that.

And opening my eyes, I tilt my head back and look up at the ceiling, hot tears blurring my vision.

"Thanks Jess," I whisper.

I only hope that she somehow heard me.

* * *

**Huge thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and just lurking! I appreciate all of the support!**

**Thanks to:**

**Afrozenheart412**

**CSINYMinute**

**Andorian Ice Princess -AIP**

**ParaCaerOuVoar**

**xSamiliciousx**

**wolfeylady**

**Forest Angel**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Dreamer Child 88**

**New-york-babeee**


	8. This Ain't A Love Song

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS**

* * *

**This Ain't A Love Song**

"Should have seen it coming when the roses died  
Should have seen the end of summer in your eyes  
Should have listened when you said, "Goodnight"  
You really meant goodbye  
Baby, ain't it funny, how I never ever learn to fall?  
You're really on your knees when you think you're standing tall  
But only fools are 'Know it all's' and I played that fool for you

I cried and I cried there were nights that I died for you, baby  
I tried and I tried to deny your love drove me crazy, baby

If the love that I've got for you is gone  
If the river I cried ain't that long  
Then I'm wrong, yeah I'm wrong, this ain't a love song."  
-This Ain't A Love Song, Bon Jovi

* * *

_**Bree-Anne's POV**_

"Mommeeee!" Collin's shrill screech and the sound of a little fist pounding on the bedroom door interrupts my peaceful, content sleep. And as my eyes flicker slowly open, I groan loudly in protest as I'm greeted by brilliant sunshine streaming through the bedroom window.

Flopping over onto my back, I cast a quick glance towards the clock radio on the bedside table before I snatch the pillow from Phil's side of the bed and place it over my face. It's barely seven thirty in the morning and already life is steam rolling on without me. Outside, neighbours are chatting on the sidewalks and in their driveways as they prepare to head off for their morning commutes. Cars pass by the house in a steady stream, as birds chirp noisily in the surrounding trees and a slight breeze tousles the leaves.

Inside, my two and a half year old son is ready and raring to go. Impatiently, and insistently slamming his palm against my door and calling my name repeatedly.

"Mommy!" he hollers, and resorts to rattling the doorknob. "Wake up! Mommeeee!"

Sighing heavily, I remove the pillow from my face and toss it aside. After I'd gotten off the phone with Donnie, I'd found it impossible to settle myself down. I was startled by both his confession regarding the shooting of Jess' killer and by his outward declaration of love. I hadn't been expecting him to tell me that he'd been the one responsible for killing the man that had gunned down his girlfriend, and while it shocked me that he had both admitted it to me and had pulled the trigger in the first place, I was hardly surprised on either account. When we'd been together, both as teens and much later as adults, we'd always been each other's most trusted confidant. There was nothing we couldn't tell each other, nothing that we felt we had to hold back. Neither of us was afraid of offending the other, and we never had to worry about being judged. We accepted each other as is. Flaws and all. We know one another's deepest and darkest secrets, and I'm most likely one of the few people that have seen the softer, more human side to Donnie. Who knows what a huge heart he has and how he's capable of possessing the most incredible tenderness, and who has been fortunate to be on the receiving end of all the love he's capable of holding deep inside of him.

I know how passionate he was when it came to the people that he loved. How he has a desire to protect and shelter them. And to hear that he'd reacted so strongly to Jess' death and had felt the need to take matters into his own hands didn't faze me. But it did frighten me slightly to know that he was capable of losing all control like that. That he was able to stare someone in the eye and take his or her life in a simple act of vengeance. Donnie wasn't a violent person. While we'd had our fair share of nasty, knock 'em down, drag 'em out fights, things had never progressed from verbal altercations. We were each capable of being vicious, of inflicting harm on each other with words. But he'd never once raised a hand to me and I'd never once been afraid that he would. And it was heartbreaking to know that while his actions -in my eyes at least, as I've always been a firm believer in an eye for an eye- were justified, that he's had to live with the pain and the guilt of what he'd done. He's remorseful, yet not entirely repentant. Conflicted and tortured. And I only hope that by sharing his secret, both he, and Jess, are finally at peace.

I'd stayed downstairs in the kitchen, drinking a cup of milk I'd warmed in the microwave and staring out into my moonlit backyard, for an hour following our late night chat. Conflicted and tortured in my own way. Donnie's honesty about still being in love with me had rocked me. As had his heartfelt apology for the way he'd handled the way things had unravelled between us. And while I was still in love with him and normally would have dropped everything to go running to him, the situation is complicated and messy. There are other hearts involved here besides our own. Phil, in all intents and purposes, is a good man. Although he gets carried away with his possessiveness and jealousy, and sometimes can't seem to detach the abrasive and obnoxious work side of his personality, he does take good care of Collin and me. He does adore and provide for us to an extent, and his lack of fatherly instincts is something that we can definitely work on. He's been living the high life of a wealthy, free and easy bachelor, yet he willingly went into a relationship with a woman who has a child. There's room for improvement, and I know there's truth behind the promises of us one day living happily ever after, on top of the world.

But my main concern remains Collin; a mother will do anything remotely possible to protect her young. He has lived his entire young life without a daddy, and is just beginning to ask questions about his father. I'm purely to blame for that, and while I am determined to have Donnie in our son's life, I can't toss the news on a toddler that the new friend he had made the day before is his father. And I can't, and won't, jump into a relationship with Donnie -no matter how much I do love him- when I harbour a fear that he'll take off again when the going gets tough. Because while I may trust him with our lives, I don't fully trust him with our hearts.

"Mommy's still sweeping," I hear Collin say from behind the door. "She's still sweeping, Phillie."

"Well we're going to wake her up," my boyfriend declares. "Here's what we're going to do, sport. I'm going to open the door and you're going to run in there, jump on the bed and tickle her awake. Sound like a plan?"

"Sounds like a plan!" Collin excitedly agrees.

"Okay...on the count of three. One...two...three!"

I yank the covers over my head just as the door bursts open, and I hear the patter of Collin's tiny feet against the wood floor and the shuffling of Luna's paws and the jingle of the tags on her collar as they both race towards me. And I peek out from under the corner of the blanket, and watch as while Luna jumps easily up onto the bed, Collin struggles to climb aboard. He may look exactly like this father; our son did not inherit his dad's height and is rather small for his age. Potty training, while successful at an early age, had required a stool so Collin could scramble up onto the toilet because he refused to use a 'baby toilie' as he called it. That plastic step stool still remains in the bathroom so that he can get up and do his business.

Phil, already showered and partly dressed for work - his white dress shirt remains untucked, and a black, burgundy and grey patterned tie and a charcoal suit jacket that matches his pants are draped over the chair by the window- grabs a hold of the rear of Collin's Cars pyjamas and hoists him up onto the bed. I shove the covers off of my body and sitting up, throw my arms wide for a hug from the most important man in my life. And Collin gives me that dimply smile and effectively delivers.

"There you go, big guy. Mission accomplished," Phil says, then drops a collection of items in his left hand onto the mattress beside me. Various coloured construction paper, a sheet of Disney stickers, a glue stick and a box of Crayola markers. He tousles Collin's hair affectionately, and then leans over the bed to drop a kiss onto the top of my head.

"Hi mommy!" Collin chirps, and clambering up onto his knees, circles my neck with his arms and plants a noisy kiss on my lips. "Guess what Phillie made me for breakfast!"

"Hmmm...let me see," taking my son's face in both of my hands, I press a kiss to his mouth and then lick my lips. "Mmmm...by the taste of things, you had pancakes with maple syrup!"

"Eggos with syrup!" Collin corrects me. "And guess what else?"

"What?" I ask, as I gather him in my arms and settle him between my open legs.

"We ate Eggos and watched Blues Clues at the same time!" my son excitedly informs me.

"You and Phil ate Eggos and watched Blues Clues together?" I inquire sceptically. I know what Phil's idea of quality time with my son is. And it involves him reading the Wall Street Journal or conducting business on his phone while working on his laptop, occasionally casting a glance in Collin's direction as he plays on his own.

Collin nods enthusiastically.

"And then we got our hands and our faces washed and our teeth brushed," Phil adds, as he tucks his shirt into his pants, then zips and buttons them and buckles his belt. "I let him play in his room while I showered," he tells me. "I hope that's okay."

I nod, bewildered by the man that stands before me, picking up and tending to his Italian silk tie. It's hard to believe that this is even the same person. Who just yesterday was scolding Collin for his sticky, dirty hands and face and berating me for my mothering skills. Who thought that children were better off left in the care of strict nannies and boarding schools, then with their parents.

"Kitchen is all cleaned up," he tells me, as he tightens his tie and flips down the collar of his shirt. "Dishes are rinsed, put in the washer. There's nothing you need to worry about when you first get up."

"Okay..." I have to literally give my head a shake to comprehend everything that is taking place in front of me. Phil has suddenly transformed into a completely different person. Helpful, polite, attentive to my son. Definitely a Twilight Zone moment. "Thanks..."

He gives me a nod and shrugs into his suit jacket as he approaches the bed. "We had a lot of fun, didn't we squirt," he says to Collin.

"Lots and lots," the two and a half year old agrees. "I was a good boy!"

"You were an amazing boy," Phil praises him. "And it was really nice of you to behave for me and let your mommy sleep in," he lays a hand on the back of my head, and applies gentle pressure, causing me to look up at him. "Especially seeing as she was up so late tending to personal business."

A chill travels the entire length of my body and my chest tightens. And a slow smirk spreads across his face as I swallow noisily. He knows that he's touched a nerve, and I can tell by the twinkle in his eyes and the curve of his lips that he's pleased with himself for being able to get to him. For having something to hold over my head. And it's suddenly so clear, the motivation behind his startling transformation.

"Maybe next time you'll be a little more careful," Phil says, as he raises his free hand to my face and grazes his knuckles against my cheek. "Someone is always listening, Bree-Anne. The walls have ears. Never conduct business when there's prying eyes and ears around."

My eyes flicker sideways, and focus on the cordless phone sitting on the table next to the bed.

"You really should have used your cell phone if you didn't want anyone listening," Phil tells me. "Especially when you and your...friend...have so many nasty little secrets between the two of you."

My eyes widen, and before I can open my mouth to respond, the hand on the back of my head buries itself in my hair, then twists the tresses around its fingers and yanks my head back slightly. A move that usually turns me on during more intimate moments, has suddenly become a threat. And fright rears its ugly head inside of me.

"I'd really hate for the wrong people to get a hold of that..._sensitive information_..." Phil continues, then looking down at Collin, decides to spare the toddler any of the dirty details and instead leans in close so that his lips are against my ear. "You know...about how your precious baby boy's father is nothing but a cold blooded killer."

I lay both hands on his chest and attempt to shove him away, but the hand in my hair tightens it grips and yanks me closer.

"All it takes is one phone call, Bree-Anne," he whispers. "One call to the wrong person. And I'm not talking about the NYPD or the newspapers. You don't have to be on the wrong side of the law to know people that are. And it would be a real shame if the good detective's reputation was sullied because you couldn't keep your mouth shut. Because you wanted a little revenge against him for doing you wrong."

"I wouldn't do that do him," I protest. "He knows that."

"No...he thinks you wouldn't do that to him. You're the one true love of his life and he trusts you. Wholly and completely. The two of you have this incredible bond. You can't seem to stay away from each other no matter how badly the two of you screw up. And if you do love him...well then you better not fuck with me. Understand?"

I nod meekly.

"Don't make me do something you'll regret," Phil tells me, then pulls away from me and presses a rough kiss to my lips. "Time to get the show on the road!" he declares, his mood brightening and a smile covering his face. "I've got a big day today. Four high profile clients I'm waiting on that are _this close_..." he holds his thumb and forefinger half an inch apart. "...to singing mega contracts. So you know what that means? When it happens, we're going to paint the town red, baby. Weekend at the Waldorf Astoria, dinner and drinks at the Rainbow Room, rubbing some elbows with the elite. Make sure you go into town today. Buy yourself a nice dress and some dancing shoes."

"But Collin," I protest. "What about...."

"I've already called Bianca and she said she'd watch him for the weekend," Phil cuts me off. "Don't you worry your pretty little head," he brushes hair away from my face and over my shoulders. "About anything."

"I don't want to..."

"I know what you want," he informs me, then presses a kiss to my forehead. "But unfortunately you can't have that. Or should I say you can't have him. But that's the name of the game, Bree-Anne. Life isn't fair. So if you know what's good for everyone involved here..." he allows his words to trail off.

"Donnie didn't..."

Phil trails a fingertip down the slope of my nose and taps the tip lightly. "Something tells me that the child protective services would not like to hear about you spending time with a killer. Use your head, Bree-Anne. Think about Collin. I know you'd die without him."

Tears threaten and I tighten the hold on my little son. After everything that I have been through in the past three and a half years -from the time of Dean's arrest until now- my baby has been the only thing that's been keeping me afloat. He had never failed to bring a smile to my face during those dark, lonely nights during my pregnancy when I'd feel him moving around and kicking energetically inside of me. As if he was reminding me that he was a precious gift in the midst of all the pain. There were times, following his birth, when I'd sit for hours in the nursery with my tiny baby in my arms, staring down at Collin in complete and utter awe; a living, breathing reminder of someone that I loved more than life itself. And now, as a precocious and phenomenally intelligent and beautiful toddler who gives me the best kisses and hugs in the world, Collin brightens my life by just being in it. And if I ever lost him...well that would be a torment I'd never be able to bear.

"You be a good boy for your mommy today," Phil says to Collin, and runs a hand over the little one's gleaming black hair. "When I get home, if she tells me you were good all day, we can go to McDonald's, okay?"

"O'tay!" Collin agrees. "I love chick 'uggets."

"Nice," I snort, and look away from my boyfriend, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing the tears brimming in my eyes. "Bribery...what a great parenting tactic."

"I find it hard to take criticism from someone who didn't even know who fathered her kid in the first place," Phil remarks dryly. "Be good," he says to Collin once again.

"You da boss, apple sauce," Collin exclaims, and gives a thumbs up.

"And you be good too," Phil tells me. "And I think you know what I mean by that."

I finally look at him, hoping that I'm showing just how defiant I am feeling. "You are not my keeper," I inform him. "I'll talk to who I want, when I want. Donnie is Collin's..." I stop myself before the word can escape me. "He's going to be a part of Collin's life. Part of my life. And if you don't like that..."

Phil lays a hand on the back of my neck and squeezes firmly. "Do not do anything stupid, Bree-Anne, understand me? You...don't...need...him..." he pinches the nape of my neck with each word he slowly pronounces.

"Yes...I...do...." I counter, giving him a dose of his own medicine.

Phil sighs heavily. "For a smart woman, you're damn stupid," he declares.

"Mommy's not stupid," Collin objects. "You're stupid!"

"Shhh...." I smooth my son's hair down and press a kiss to the top of his head. "You're going to be late for work," I tell Phil, then give him a sugary sweet smile.

"You remember what I told you," he says, then gives my neck a final painful squeeze before backing away. "I'll probably be late," he tells me, then heads for the door.

"I'd expect nothing else," I respond, the give a slight jump when he slams the door behind him. My eyes burrow into the wood as my heart pounds furiously in my chest and I tremble from head to toe.

I'm furious with myself for so many reasons. For ever lying about Collin in the first place, for letting Donnie get away the second time. If I'd been honest right from the get go, I would never be in the mess I am now immersed in. I'm disgusted that I wasn't more careful last night. That I hadn't considered the possibility of Phil spying me on me. And I'm horrified that I even allow myself to have feelings for someone that treats me and my son this way.

"Mommy!" Collin suddenly cries, and begins to wriggle in my arms. "You're smooshin' me!"

"I'm sorry, baby boy," I nuzzle the top of his head with my nose and loosen my grip on him. "Now what's all of this stuff for?" I ask, as I look down at all the craft supplies and then reach out to yank a marker out of Luna's mouth.

"I needs your help, mum-mum," Collin replies, and I'm grateful that he doesn't realize -for once- that something is wrong. For such a little boy, he's surprisingly intuitive and wise beyond his years. "I wants to make something for Donnie!"

"What kind of something?" I ask with a smile.

"I wants him to come over and play hockey with me. And I wants to make him an intation."

"An invitation?" I inquire, gently correcting him.

"Yeah...an intation...so that he'll come and play hockey with me. Can we take it to the peas-station today and give it to him? Can we sa-pize him?"

"Surprises are always good," I say, smirking a little to myself at the open invitation Phil had given me to go into the city. There's certainly nothing wrong with killing two birds with one stone. And what he doesn't know won't hurt him. The only thing I am concerned about is walking into the twelfth precinct. It's been three years since Dean's arrest, but I'm not sure how many of his colleagues might still work there. Or what rumours might start by my appearance.

"So can we mum-mum?" Collin asks hopefully. "Can we go see Donnie?"

I decide that it's time I start taking more chances. And get control of my life. "Sure..." I reply, and my son gives a delighted shriek. "You really like Donnie, don't you," I comment.

"He's nice," Collin tells me. "And he's a peas-man. Peas-mans are cool! If he was your boyfriend, then Phil could go home and never come back. And maybe Donnie could be my daddy."

"Maybe," I say, and kiss my son's cheek. "How about we talk all of this downstairs and start on the surprise?" I suggest, and gather the craft supplies into my arms.

"O'tay!" Collin exclaims, and scrambles off of my lap, crawls across the mattress and then flips over onto his stomach in order to slide off of the bed. "I race you!" he cries, then hurries from the room.

Sighing heavily, I rake a hand through my hair and briefly close my eyes.

And I wonder how in the hell I'm going to get out of such a horrific mess.

* * *

It's less than a two hundred yards from the public lot where I've parked my car, to the front entrance of the twelfth precinct, and with each step I take, the anxiety that gnaws at my heart grows in its intensity. It's been three and half years since I'd last stepped through the front doors of the familiar grey brick building. Back then, I'd been armed with a cardboard box to pack all of Dean's belongings in after I'd cleaned out his desk and his locker, and I can still vividly recall how it had felt to have every set of eyes in the place watching my every move. Some with pity, some with concern. With no knowledge of my affair with Donnie, the other cops had felt sorry for me that I would forever be known as the wife of a dirty cop and that I'd most likely be called to testify at his trial. Either for or against him. They were concerned with how I'd cope in the coming days and months, and how my life would unravel and if I'd be able to deal with the fact that he was going to jail for a hell of a long time. Of course, no one had had the balls to come up to me and see if I was alright. Instead they'd all sat on their asses behind their desks or lurked at the water cooler and whispered amongst themselves.

Everyone accept for Jessica Angell. I'd been in the locker room, with furious tears streaming down my face and profanities trickling from my lips as I called Dean every name in the book while I violently tossed all of his belongings into the box. I had been pissed off that he'd been so goddamn selfish and stupid. That he'd done something so moronic as steal the drugs in the first place and that he'd he shown just what a monster he was by killing an innocent kid. I'd been horrified that I'd ever married someone like that and that I'd even stayed when he'd begun showing his darker side. And most of all, I'd been disgusted that he'd humiliated not only himself, but his father as well. His dad was a legend within the department, and had been prouder than a pig in shit when Dean had decided to follow his footsteps. He'd had high hopes for his oldest child, and then he'd had to suffer the torment when Dean had betrayed not only himself, but every good cop that carried the badge with respect and pride.

Jess and I had never been what you could call friends. Despite the several coffee runs we'd been on together, I barely knew anything about her other than the fact her dad was a detective sergeant and that she had four older -and very protective- brothers. But I'd always liked her. Right from the moment that we'd first met. She was feisty and tough and took no shit. She could handle herself exceptionally well in a male dominated profession. Especially one as hard core as the old boys club of the NYPD. And I had often found myself envying her. Mostly because she was so edgy and rough and tumble. And because she was drop dead gorgeous with all of that dark wavy hair, a body that could stop traffic, and those beautiful brown eyes.

But underneath that hard shell, she'd been compassionate and sweet. And she'd gone against the grain that night by offering me the proverbial olive branch. While the rest of her colleagues were stunned, furious and embarrassed by what had gone down, she'd been the only one to actually care about how I was affected by what Dean had done. And I can still remember the smell of the lavender scented shampoo that lingered in her hair as she sat down beside me on the bench in front of Dean's locker. She'd been wearing a pair of skinny jeans that night, along with an off white chenille sweater and a pair of high heeled black boots. Her dark hair had been pulled away from her face and put up in a high pony tail, and I can still recall the weight of her hand on my shoulder when she'd wrapped a comforting and almost protective arm around me. For several minutes we had sat there in complete silence, as I found solace and strength in her embrace. And then she'd released me, stood up and had taken to finishing the task of cleaning Dean's locker out herself.

Afterwards, she'd carried the box for me and had escorted me all the way to my car. She'd waited until I'd packed everything in the trunk and closed it before she'd reached out and pulled me into her arms and had proceeded to reassure me that everything was going to be okay. That while it hurt like hell at that moment, I was going to be okay. And then she'd held my tear stained face in her hands and had kissed both of my cheeks before turning away.

That was the last time I'd ever seen Jessica Angell. Save for the glimpse I'd gotten from the back of that packed funeral home chapel of her lifeless body inside of that coffin.

"Mum-mum?" Collin asks, holding my hand tightly as he hurries along beside me. He'd adamantly refused to go inside of his stroller when I'd pulled it out of the trunk of my car, insisting that he was a big boy and that he wanted to show all of the 'peas-man' that he wasn't a baby. And after all, buggies are for babies.

"What, Button?"

"Will the peas-man get mad 'cause I don't have a Yankees hat?" he inquires in all seriousness, his big blue eyes wide in awe as he takes in the sight of all of the police cruisers parked in front of the precinct. And the uniform officers that pass us on the sidewalk and stream through the doors of the station house.

I glance down my tiny son. Clad in a pair of olive green cargo shorts, a Knicks t-shirt and a pair of brown leather walking sandals, his beloved Mets cap is turned backwards on his head and his Go Diego Go backpack is slung over his shoulders. "Why would they be mad?" I ask.

"'Cause Phil says only people from Queens like the Mets," Collin tells me. And once again I'm in awe of his speech and comprehension at such a tender age. My folks have told me a million times that I was a fast talker too, and that I could string together even more complicated sentences at Collin's age. "And we're from Queens, mum-mum," he informs me.

"People can like whatever team they want," I tell him. "There's no rule that you can't wear a Mets hat outside of Queens."

"Phil says that wearing a Mets hat outside of Queens is certain death," Collin says.

"Well Phil doesn't know what he's talking about," I retort. "Never take anyone that loves the Yankees that much seriously. What is that mommy and grandma call the Yankees? Do you remember?"

"The evil empire!" my son cries, then giggles. "Does Donnie like da Mets?" he asks.

"Donnie's from Queens just like we are," I reply. "He loves the Mets."

"And the Rangers," Collin says. "But we have a secret."

"You and Donnie have a secret?"

The toddler nods. "But I can't tell you what it is," he adds quickly. "'Cause then it won't be a secret anymore."

"Gotcha," I say with a grin.

"I wants to be a peas-man when I'm big," Collin announces. "I wants to have a gun so I can shoot the bad guys."

"Well I think there's more to being a policeman than that," I tell him. "When you're a policeman you have to…"

My words are cut off as my attention is captured by the sight of a tiny brunette struggling to get through the front doors of the precinct with a stroller. Her shoulder length hair is mussed and her cheeks are flushed as she mumbles profanities and shoots dirty looks at the inconsiderate asses that either don't offer assistance, or have the nerve to slip past her on their way through the door.

Collin gives a shout of protest as I scoop him up into my arms and settle him on my right hip, worried about losing him on the busy New York City street as I rush to help out the young mother.

"Thank you so much," she breathes, as I hold the door open for her, enabling her to duck under my arm as she finally emerges from the station house, stroller in tow.

"Don't worry about it. I know what it's like trying to get around the city with a stroller," I say, and smile down at the blond haired cherub securely fastened in the purple, pink and grey patterned buggy. There's tiny red plastic barrettes tucked into her curls, matching perfectly with her adorable sundress; white and emblazoned with pictures of strawberries. On her impossibly tiny feet are white leather sandals, and around one ankle is thin gold chain.

"Hi baby!" Collin exclaims, and begins to squirm in my arms, a clear indication he wants down.

"Her name is Lucy," the young mother informs us, as we move our small group away from the front entrance of the precinct. "She's fifteen months."

"She's beautiful," I gush, as I place my son on the ground and bend down to run a hand over the baby's hair. "Your first one?"

She nods and smiles. "But hopefully not my last."

"Hi Lucy!" Collin greets, as he plants himself in front of the stroller, and lays his hands on the snack tray.

The baby gives a broad smile, a loud shriek and claps her hands.

"She likes you," Lucy's mother declares. "See how she's smiling and clapping like that? She's showing off and she doesn't show off for just anyone. So it means that she really, really, really likes you."

"She's really cute," Collin says, then looks up and gives the woman above him his dimply smile. And as I notice the way her eyes widen in surprise as she gets a good look on my son, I panic slightly as I realize that she most likely knows Donnie and that she's noticed the uncanny resemblance between him and Collin.

"You're a cutie too," she tells the toddler. "What's your name?"

"My name's Collin Alexander Truby," he answers proudly. "I'm two and a half! But I'll be tree in four months mommy says!"

Lucy's mom's eyes zero on in me now. I'd thought that by at least covering my eyes with a pair of oversized sunglasses, I'd give myself some sort of anonymity. Although I'm pretty sure that my red hair somewhat gives me away. Everyone within the NYPD, if not the entire city, knows me from the trial. And from the dirt that had been stirred up during it. There's been no escaping the shit storm that erupted when news of my affair had gotten out.

"Bree-Anne?" she asks. "Bree-Anne Truby?"

I bite my bottom lip nervously and reluctantly nod.

"You obviously don't remember me, but I'm Lindsay Messer," she introduces herself and offers a hand. "I work for the crime lab. We met once. When you came in to visit Dean and I was coming out of interrogation."

"I know a Danny Messer," I say, and shake her hand.

"Well I was a Lindsay Monroe back then," she tells me. "Danny and I were married last year."

"Congratulations," I say sincerely. "Wow…Danny's a husband and a father? A lot has changed in three and a half years."

"Wonders never cease to exist," Lindsay grins. "So this is your son?"

I nod.

"And you two are coming here because…."

"We're coming to see Donnie!" Collin announces. "I made him an intation to come and play hockey with me. At my house. He's a peas-man, you know."

"I know," Lindsay laughs.

"Do you know him?" Collin asks.

"I do actually. He's a very, very, very good friend of mine. And he's Lucy's uncle. How do you know him?"

"He's my friend," my son says, then giggles as Lucy reaches up and snatches the hat off of his head.

Lindsay nods, then gives me a tight lip smile. I know that this moment must be just as uncomfortable for her as it is for me. And it's the exact reason -the curiosity and the questions- that I've avoided ever coming here in the first place. One look at Collin, and anyone that knows Donnie and has seen my ex husband will be able to quickly put the pieces together. There's no way in hell that Dean Truby fathered my son. And I was a fool for ever thinking that I'd be able to get away with lying about his parentage for the rest of Collin's life.

"You can ask," I say, anxious to break the silence, and to assure her that it's okay to say something. Anything.

"Does Flack know?" Lindsay asks. "He's never once mentioned that he's a f…"

"He found out yesterday," I reply. "He came by my house to see me and he met Collin then. For the first time. Donnie had no idea until then that Collin even existed. I mean, he knew that I'd had a baby, but he never knew that…"

"He just thought it was Dean's," Lindsay concludes. "Does he know?" she nods down at Collin, who's laughing hysterically as he plays tug of war for his hat with baby Lucy.

I shake my head. "I'm not sure when I should tell him," I admit. "I can't just drop that kind of news on him, you know?"

Lindsay nods. "For what it's worth," she says. "Flack will do the right thing now that he knows. He's a really good person, Bree-Anne. He has a huge heart and he has so much love inside of him and…well I guess you know all of that considering the history you guys have."

"He's already making plans to step up to the plate," I reveal. "It's just…it's just all so complicated. We have a lot of things to talk about. A lot of things that we need to sort out between us."

"Well the important thing is that you're getting a chance to do all of that," Lindsay tells me. "That's all that really matters. The past is just that. You can't dwell on it or live in it. None of us can."

I sigh heavily and nod.

"Things will work out," Lindsay gives me a smile. "I'm all for optimism considering the year that we've all had around here. If you ever want to talk or get together, just stop by at the crime lab. I'm there all week long save for Thursdays. So if you ever want to just hang out…"

"I'd like that," I say, then glance up at the building looming over me. "I'm really looking for a friend here."

"I said almost those exact words to someone once," Lindsay tells me. "And I'll tell you the same thing she told me. You've got one, kiddo. Or at least the start of one. Don't be shy, okay?"

"I'll try," I promise.

"We should get going," Lindsay says. "We were just visiting daddy on his lunch break. Now it's time to go home and have a nap. Sleepy time. For both of us."

"My favourite time of the day," I laugh, and bend down to rescue Collin's hat from Lucy, and to press a kiss to the top of her head. "It was nice meeting you beautiful girl," I say, and comb my fingers through the baby's silky curls.

"Don't be a stranger," Lindsay says, then surprises me with a quick hug. "It was good to see you again."

"You too," I return the loose embrace with one of my own, then turn to slip the hat back onto Collin's head.

"We'll see you again, Collin!" Lindsay calls to him, as she heads off down the sidewalk.

"Bye!" he hollers back. "Bye-bye Lucy!"

Lindsay swings the stroller around to face us, then leans down to pick up one of her daughter's hands to wave it in Collin's direction.

He returns the wave with one of his own, then curls his fingers around my hand.

"Ready to go, little man?" I ask, as we once again walk towards the front entrance of the precinct.

"Guess what, mum-mum!" he cries, as I yank one of the heavy doors open.

"What?" I ask.

"Baby Lucy's gonna be my girlfriend when we grow up!" Collin announces.

I grin down at my son, and laying a hand on the back of his head, gently push him into the front foyer of the stationhouse.

"Now that is something we'll definitely have to talk about," I tell him.

I barely know them, but Lindsay and Lucy Messer have managed to almost banish my fears about returning to the twelfth precinct.

Maybe reconnecting with Donnie again isn't just a second chance with him, but a second chance at life in general.

* * *

**Huge thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and even just lurking! I appreciate all of the support!!!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**Afrozenheart412**

**ParaCaerOuVoar**

**wolfeylady**

**Andorian Ice Princess - AIP**

**Heart2handgun**

**Soccer-bitch**

**xSamilciousx**

**Forest Angel**

**EmSyd**


	9. Tattoo

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS**

**THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO IS ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVES!**

* * *

**Tattoo**

"I can't waste time so give it a moment  
I realize nothing's broken  
No need to worry about everything I've done  
live every second like it was my last one.  
Don't look back got a new direction  
I loved you once  
needed protection  
you're still a part of everything I do  
you're on my heart just like a tattoo  
just like a tattoo I'll always have you."  
-Tattoo, Jordin Sparks

* * *

_**Flack's POV**_

An hour before the clock runs out on my shift and I still have at least a couple of hours of work to do. A double homicide in the Bronx only sixty minutes into my day has had me on my toes from the get go. The exhaustion that had nearly prevented me from climbing out of bed when the alarm went off, had been quickly replaced by the adrenaline rush that always came with a call out . I'd had no time to think about how tired I was and how I wanted nothing more than to just go home, curl up in bed and pull the covers over my head. The second I'd gotten that scene, I'd be on autopilot. Immediately turning off the personal side of things and throwing myself into the pool of consummate professionalism. I had a scene to secure, men to supervise and canvassing of the neighbourhood for any witnesses and possible suspects to attend to. I didn't have the time to sit back and thoroughly reflect on everything that had gone down the day before.

Things are a jumbled, crazy mess inside of my head, to be honest. I've not only seen my ex girlfriend -my ex everything, if you want to get technical and romantic about it- but I've discovered I have a nearly three year son and I've purged my entire soul and shed my deepest and darkest secrets. The last twenty-four hours have been nothing short of surreal, and I know that if I actually sat down and thought about it all, I'd probably drive myself mental. Never mind what it did to my brain to think about all of the things that still lay ahead of me. Attempting to start anew with Breezy, securing visitation with Collin, child support payments. The list that had once held one name now held a shit load of things to do. And it was goddamn overwhelming.

I'm already feeling some side effects from last night's confession. I'd had a relatively peaceful sleep after I'd hung up after talking to Breezy. Hearing her voice and spilling my guts to her had done wonders; I'd actually managed to get a full four hours of shut eye under my belt, a record compared to the one or two that I'd been average on night since Jess had been killed. The weight that had been lifted off my shoulders after I'd told Breezy about Simon Cade had yet to make its return. While the vivid recollections of that moment still linger, I now no longer feel disgusted with myself whenever I look in the mirror. My conscience has decided to ease up on me a little. The spring in my step, easygoing smile and my often cutting and sarcastic sense of humour are making resurgence after a year long hiatus. While I'd never been the happiest guy on earth -Dean Truby and the way he'd managed to fuck up my entire life had cast a permanent dark shadow over me, and loosing Breezy had always been the proverbial black cloud that followed me around- delving into a relationship with Jess and finding love with her had lightened my world considerably. And when she'd died, so had a part of me. I'd lost the only two women that I'd ever loved in my entire life, and the pain had been unbearable.

Going to Breezy's yesterday had been the smartest move I'd ever made in my life. While I was slightly bitter over the fact that she'd kept my son from me, seeing her again had awakened something inside of me. Something good and pure that I hadn't felt in so long. That reminded me that I was still human and that I deserved to feel love and be loved in return. I'd always missed her, but I hadn't really realized just how much until I'd laid eyes on her. I hadn't realized the depth of longing and love that I still possessed for her until she'd wrapped her arms around me and had laid her head against my chest. Until I'd felt her heart beating against me and my fingers had made contact with her silky skin and those thick, wavy auburn tresses. Until I'd had her firmly in my embrace and my senses had permeated by the soft, alluring scent that clung to her hair. At that moment, when she'd been in my arms after what had felt like an eternity, I'd realized that I'd never gotten over her. And that if I hadn't gone to her house, I would probably have spent the rest of my life missing her.

Little thoughts of her had kept creeping up on me throughout the day. I'd be in the midst of helping the uniform officers and the younger detectives canvass and suddenly I'd be hit with a thought, a memory of something that Breezy and I used to do together. A little girl with a Strawberry Shortcake back pack had passed by me on the street while I was taking notes in my logbook and I'd been unable to keep my eyes of her, remembering how Strawberry Shortcake had not only been Breezy's favourite cartoon as a kid, but her father's long standing nickname for her as well. She'd confessed both to me when, after the first time I'd snuck into her room at fourteen, I'd noticed the tattered and worn Strawberry Shortcake fleece blanket that graced the end of her bed.

Next, I'd been sitting at a red light in my squad, on my way to meet up with Mac to talk to a witness, when a car had pulled up next to me playing Tracy Chapman's 'Baby Can I Hold You'. And right there and then, I'd immediately been transported back to the junior prom when Breezy and I had danced together to that song. And Mac and I had been leaving our short and uneventful talk with our less than willing and cooperative witness when a teenage girl in a Catholic high school uniform with deep red curls that nearly reached the small of her back had passed by the steps of the brownstone we were exiting, and I'd totally tuned out on anything Mac was saying about the case or the progress of his team. My attention had been solely focused on that girl, so much so that my foot had missed the bottom step and I would have fallen on my face if it hadn't have been for Mac clamping a hand around my bicep in order to keep me from wiping out.

"You're a little odd today," Mac had said, a slow grin curving his mouth, obviously amused by both my blunder, and my embarrassment that he'd caught me off my game. "Don't you think she's a little…" he'd paused as he glanced down the street, watching as the school girl disappeared around the corner and then looked at me again. "…young for you?"

"Jesus Christ, Mac…" I'd retorted, raking a hand through my hair as my cheeks and the tips of my ears turned a brilliant shade of crimson. "I'm a lot of things, but I'm no cradle robber."

My 'man whore' behaviour as Danny had called it, may be a thing of the past, but it's common knowledge around the lab and the precinct. Though the whispers and the rumours about how I'm a guy who will 'bang a chick with brown eyes' or 'knock boots with a broad with long dark hair' simply because they faintly resemble Jess still run rampant, those days are long behind me. I'm past seeking comfort in the form of meaningless sex. I want something substantial. I want someone that I can come home to at the end of a long shift and bitch and moan about my day too. Someone that 'gets me' , who has the ability to chase away all of my demons with a kiss or a hug. Someone that I can lose myself in.

I want Breezy. It's a simple as that. And I'm determined, regardless of how long it takes, to convince her that we belong together. After all, anything that is that incredible is worth fighting for.

I'd been tempted to tell Mac about Breezy and Collin. I had wanted to share both the news of having a son and the possibility of reconciliation, and to clear up any misconception in Mac's mind that I'd been checking out that school girl. We'd grabbed a quick bite to eat at a cheap dinner across the street from the brownstone, and we'd sipped coffee and indulged in greasy, crappy food while discussing the case and our lack of leads. The entire time I'd fought the urge to tell the crime lab boss about my newly discovered family. I figured that if anyone would understand the way I'm feeling -the moments of sheer terror at the thought of actually being a dad and having someone that is completely dependant on me, the linger anger and hurt at Breezy for keeping Collin from me, and the utmost love and pride that surges through me whenever I think about my boy- it's Mac. His wife Claire had had a son when she was very young, and had subsequently put the baby up for adoption, and Reed had unrepentantly popped into Mac's life after her death. I know that it had taken a bit of time for them to warm up to each other, but that they're pretty tight now. And I also know that Reed spends a lot of time at Mac's place, and that Mac relishes his role of father figure.

Now if he and Stella would just shit or get off the pot when it comes to starting their own family. The entire team had been relieved when they'd finally gotten their act together after Mac had chased Stella down in Greece, and that they realized, after years of working together, that there was so much more that existed between them. And that if they made a hell of a team at work, imagine what they could achieve outside of it as well. I'm personally waiting for the day that they announce that they're getting hitched.

There are two things that preventing me from spilling to Mac. The first is that despite the nearly four years that have passed, I'm still slightly bitter about the whole logbook fiasco. I guess it's a case of 'Six degrees of separation' I've got going on. If Dean had never been a selfish fucking prick and stole those drugs for profit, he would have never had a reason to be in the warehouse that night and never would have killed Kym Tanaka and left the evidence behind that incriminated him. If he'd never murdered Tanaka, those traces of black cocaine wouldn't have been there and never would have been tracked back to my raid. And if the trail had never led back to me, Mac never would have come for my logbook and in the long run, I never would have lost Breezy and never would have been kept away from my son.

Like Mac is fond of saying, everything is connected.

The second and more important reason that I'm keeping my mouth shut so far is that I don't want to tell anyone about Collin until Breezy is ready to. The ball is firmly in her court, and deciding on how to tell everyone and how to tell him is something that we're definitely going to have to discuss tomorrow. Along with working out a visitation schedule and support payments. I'd rather keep things just between us. Having lawyers get involved seems too impersonal, and there's too much history and too many intense feelings between us to do things the old fashioned way. There'd been a time that we'd been so much more than lovers. When we'd been each other's best friends and most sacred confidantes. And I'm hoping that we can discover all of that again. As quickly as possible.

So I'd kept my mouth shut while having lunch with Mac. And he'd completely misread my silence and my often 'spacey' behaviour and had quickly launched into a spiel about how it had nearly destroyed him to lose Claire and how for the longest time he'd felt he was doing her and their marriage a great disservice by moving on with his life. He'd assumed that I was acting the way I was because I was still grieving for Jessie. And instead of correcting him and telling him exactly what was on my mind, I'm simply kept my mouth shut and done little more than nod or shake my head when it was called for. I didn't have the heart to tell him, especially when he was so willingly opening up to me and reaching out to me through our similar circumstances, that his diagnosis was far off the mark. Mac doesn't spill his guts to anyone, and I respect him enough to give him his moment. To not take away from the memories he has of his wife by not allowing him to share them with me.

* * *

Four hours following our lunch and with Mac's well meaning advice about 'moving on when the time feels right' tucked under my belt, I'm finally wrapping up all the loose ends on our case. I'm fresh off of a trip to the Central Booking after an NYU student had walked in to a precinct in the Bronx two hours ago, still covered and blood and still in possession of the murder weapon and ready to confess. I'd been expecting a long, drawn out fiasco. A triple shift spent following an endless string of dead end leads, one or two foot chases -because someone always thought they were quick enough to outrun me and couldn't understand the simple warning of, 'Stop or I'll shoot'- and then finished off with a marathon interrogation that may or may not involve me making someone pee their pants. But no. All of my fun had to be trampled on because someone decided to do the right thing.

For once.

My first stop when I'd returned to the precinct -using the back parking lot and letting myself in through the rear entrance in order to avoid the sea of humanity that was often out front- had been the locker room. With the stifling, unbearable heat showing no sign of letting up, being imprisoned in a suit and tie for the past eight hours as the temperature hovered at a hundred degrees had left me swimming in perspiration and in desperate need of a shower. I had spent nearly half an hour under a steady stream of lukewarm water, the palms of my hands flat against the backsplash and my eyes closed and chin tucked into my chest as I let the water both ease the tension out of my back and shoulders, and attempt to strip away the hurt, disappointment and lingering grief that still plagues me.

And as I now journey through the bullpen on my way to the duty captain's desk to sign myself in, I feel more relaxed and at ease in a pair of faded, baggy jeans, black t-shirt and the well worn, my badge hanging around my neck from a silver beaded chain, and scuffed boots that I've held onto since my last day in a uniform over a decade ago. There are very few things in my life that have sentimental value to me. I'm just not the type of guy that normally develops bonds with inanimate objects. Things get worn out, dirty or broken and I just toss them out in the trash without even a second thought. Yet there's three things that I hold onto for dear life. Those boots are one of them. My grandfather's rosary that had been placed in his hands while he lay in his coffin throughout the two days of visitation and his church service when he passed away when I was seventeen was another.

And the final thing, the one that means the most, sits at home tucked inside the same lock box where I store my gun at the end of the day. Safely and loving stored in the same black velvet box it had been placed in when I'd purchased it, was the engagement ring that I'd bought for Breezy. It's nothing fancy; just a simple solitaire diamond set in a band of braided tri-colour gold. She'd never known that I had bought it, or that I'd been in the midst of planning how and when to ask her to marry me when Dean's screw up had brought such a screeching halt to everything. And while there'd been many times I'd been tempted to get rid of it -I'd stopped myself twice from taking the ring and either flushing it down the toilet or tossing it off of the Brooklyn bridge- I could never quite bring myself to part with it. Even when Jess had accidentally stumbled upon it and I'd had to, as gently as possible, explain to her that it wasn't intended for her and had, and always would, belong to someone else, I couldn't get rid of that ring. No matter how angry she got or how many times she demanded I let go of that part of my life or told me to realize that Breezy was gone and she was never coming back, I just couldn't let go. So that ring stayed right where it was. Out of sight and out mind.

"Look at you. All fresh and smelling pretty," John Sullivan, the grizzled and hefty duty captain says in way of greeting as I step up to the main desk. Sully as we all call him, has been with the department for over forty years and has never once considered branching out and trying his hand at becoming a detective. He says he enjoyed his three decades in a uniform; being out on the street in the midst of things, getting a bead on the pulse of the people. We all tell him he's crazy, and that the only reason he stays behind a desk now is because his Krispy Kreme donut fetish and his nine months pregnant looking stomach prevents him from tying his own shoes, let alone allows him to successfully chase someone a couple of feet.

"Your old lady likes the way I smell," I retort, and I flash him a playful wink as I lean over the top of the desk in order to snatch a pen and the roster clipboard from its resting place in front of the receptionist.

Tina is pushing fifty and slowly making her way through the precinct like it's an all you can eat buffet, and God knows there's a lot of eye candy around there for a cougar like her. I don't deny that with her shimmering honey blond hair that skims her jaw line and vibrant green eyes, she's a very attractive woman. _For her age. _And while I always engage in small talk with her, I keep any flirtatious behaviour firmly in check. Although I do wish I was big enough of an asshole to tell her that her mini skirts, sky high heels and her dangerously long fingernails and abundance of make up that she looked more like the girls Vice hauled in a nightly basis then someone who should be working for the department. The Tina Express as it's referred to, is one ride I'm not interested in taking.

"She's had more ass than a toilet seat," Jess' voice suddenly pops into my head, and hearing it so clear and vividly -as if she's standing right next to me- causes that invisible fist to close around my heart and the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end. It's not the first time where something has reminded me of her. And this go around, it's Tina and the way she's trying to be seductive while trailing her pen along her bottom lip while batting her fake eyelashes at me. Jess had complained to me once that she didn't appreciate the way the receptionist was always checking me out, or as my girlfriend had put it, 'sizing you up to be her next victim'.

I swallow in an attempt to clear away the lump of emotion that has settled in my throat, as I locate my name on the duty sheet and jot down the time I returned back from the field at it and scrawl my signature, I wonder if these moments will ever disappear. Where I'll get to the point where even the simplest of things won't remind me of Jessie anymore. If one day they'll just cease to exist and I'll never think about her again. If her face and her voice will be nothing but distant memories. Because while I want to heal and move on, I don't want to let of certain aspects of her either. I don't want to pretend that she never existed, or that we didn't have the start of something great. Because that would only be a disrespect to her.

"Special delivery!" Sully smacks me on the top of the head with a large manila envelope. "This was left for you a couple of hours ago."

"What is it?" I ask, and drop the pen and clipboard in front of Tina and reach for the object in the duty captain's hand.

"Wouldn't know," he replies, and relinquishes his hold on the envelope. "I wasn't here when it was dropped off."

"Some girl came by looking for you," Tina tells me. "Says that she was a friend of yours and wanted to talk to you. I told her that you weren't in and that I could give you a call through dispatch to see where you were and when you'd be back if she wanted me to. She said that she didn't want to bother you and she'd just been hoping to catch you during some down time."

"Who was it?" I inquire, and flipping the envelope over in my hands, smile when I see my name scrawled across the front in elegant writing that I'd recognize anywhere. Even three and a half years later.

Tina shrugs. She hadn't been around during the whole Dean Truby nightmare, and wouldn't know Breezy if she tried over her in the street. "She just said that she was a friend of yours and that she'd been in the neighbourhood and thought she'd stop by. Sweet little thing, wavy red hair down to here," she taps her pen against her elbows. "Big brown eyes. Had a little kid with her. Cute as a bug in the rug. Told me that you and him were best buddies."

My smile broadens.

"Looks like he could be some relation of yours," Tina continues. "All that black hair and those huge blue eyes…you sure you don't have a kid you've never told anyone about? Some secret life?"

"Everyone's got secrets," I respond, then nod my thanks as I head back towards the bullpen.

* * *

Using a fingertip, I give the mouse on my desk a nudge and bring my computer roaring back to life from its hibernated state. Hooking my foot around the base of my roller chair, I pull it out from behind my messy desk -I preferred to call it organized clutter, whereas Jess always complained about it being an absolute pigsty and had always kept on my ass to tidy it- and plop down onto it. For now, the folders that are desperately waiting my attention and the paper work for my recently closed case can wait, and I tear eagerly into the envelope Sully had given to me. Excitement and anticipating bubbling inside of me, like a kid on Christmas morning who'd just spied the mountain of presents awaiting him.

There's a homemade card inside. Fashioned out of bright yellow construction paper, the front cover is emblazoned with a wide assortment of Disney stickers, an attempted drawing of a policeman and what I assume is supposed to be his cruiser done in markers and DONNIE splattered across the top in blue sparkles. Breezy's obviously helped Collin out with his creation, and I can actually imagine them together at the kitchen table, my son kneeling on one of the chairs and Breezy's hair tumbling over her face as she leans over him, the two of them laughing as they create a huge mess in the quest of making me something. And I can see her, holding our son's tiny hand in hers as she helps him print both my name, and the words inside that read, Will you come and play hockey with me? And are accompanied by their address and finished off with, Love Collin. I notice that the second L in his name is squished between the other letters, as if he'd forgotten that it's Collin with two Ls. Not one. Just like it's always been Bree-Anne. Not Bree. And I'm startled that the lump of emotion has not only invaded my throat again, but that there's tears brimming in my eyes.

I blink them away, then close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. I've been an emotional wreck for the past year, and just when I'd thought I'd gotten a handle on things, something so simple as a homemade card is enough to bring me to my knees. It's not the card per say, it's more the sentiment and the time that went behind making it. And the fact of who sent it to me.

Clearing my throat noisily, I open my eyes and look down at the picture of Collin that Breezy has included inside of the card. Attached to the construction paper with a small dab of sticky tack, it was obviously taken at my son's upper crust daycare. Taken from the chest up, he's wearing a black cardigan over a white polo shirt. From the many times I've dealt with crime scenes on the Upper East Side, I know he's also clad in a pair of black dress pants and polished shoes. As if he's being groomed for a career on Wall Street as opposed to running around a playground and getting dirty with all of his little friends. And I easily recognize the embroidered crest on the cardigan. Wallace Cooper Day Care and Pre-School. One of the many breeding grounds for the kids of the elite in this city.

I figure it must be Phil's idea to send Collin somewhere like that. And that he's most likely fitting the bill too. Those places aren't cheap, and the last time I'd checked, an elementary school teacher didn't make the kind of cash it took to enrol their kid there. That, and Breezy just isn't like that. She's never been the type that was impressed easily by someone's financial status, and she's happily lived her life as the daughter of modest, just below middle income parents. Sending Collin to Wallace Cooper is something else we're going to have to discuss. Because it honestly makes me sick, and feels like disrespect to all children of honest, hard working parents to have my son attending a place like that. I don't pretend to be something I'm not. And I don't want him growing up thinking it's okay that it's okay to betray himself and his roots like that.

I peel the picture off of the card and turn it over. On the back, in Breezy's penmanship, is written: Collin Alexander Patrick, two and a half. It hits me that she had picked Patrick because it had been my grandfather's -the same one whose rosary I still possessed- name. She'd been there for me when my grandfather had passed away and she knew how close the two of us had been, and she had my grandpa had always gotten along. I used to drag her along to visit him in the nursing home he'd spent the final three years of his life in, and she'd always laugh at all of his jokes and never tired of hearing the same stories he told her over and over again. He'd even told me a few times about the massive crush on her, and I know he got a real kick out of teasing her about her freckles and her red hair and had loved how she'd always bring him flowers to brighten his room and how she'd fluff his pillows and fix his blankets. And sneak him cookies and brownies her mother had made.

It had been my grandpa, who despite his feeble health and aging years, who'd both given me the 'you're being careful right, boy? You're not going to be making me a great grand-dad anytime soon are you?' talk and who'd also told me that Breezy was too precious to ever let go. She wasn't perfect -'but who is?'- he'd mused, but he'd been convinced that regardless of our young ages, that she was perfect for me.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I release it slowly and lean forward to set the card amongst the clutter. Then I place my elbows on my desk and turn that picture over in my hands. I'm in awe of my son. Of how incredibly smart and beautiful he is. And I'm in awe of myself, too. It's surreal to think that someone like me was capable of making someone like him.

A pair of soft hands settle on my shoulders, and I nearly jump out of my skin as the contact snaps me back to reality. Tearing me out of the warm cocoon of memories and thoughts of the future, and bringing me back to where I am at this exact moment. Sitting behind my desk in the middle of the chaotic bullpen. Detectives are pacing with phones to their ears; others are arguing with suspects that are handcuffed to the arms of the chairs besides desks. Perps that are secured in the holding cells are yelling for their one phone call and for cups of coffee and something to eat .

"At least I didn't catch you doing crossword puzzles this time," Stella teases me, as I glance up at her.

"I've moved on to Sudoku actually," I tell her, a grin slowly spreading across my face as I remember back to the one bright moment during the whole Todd Flemming incident when Stella had come down to lend her support while I'd sat behind my desk as a member of the rubber gun squad. "More of a challenge," I add.

"Well in that case, I hope you're staring on beginner," her eyes twinkle playfully. "Because if you couldn't come up with a five letter word for kitchen utensil…"

"Okay smart ass," I chuckle. "No need to get nasty now. How goes things?"

"Slowly and not too surely," she says, and takes a seat on the edge of my desk. "You know how it is, Don."

Stella's been calling me Don on a constant basis since Jess died. And since she decided she'd be the one that I could lean on during my darkest of days. My rock.

"Another day, another dollar," I declare. "Or same shit, different day. Take your pick."

"Today seems like the perfect time to choose the latter," Stella sighs. "Who's the cutie?" she asks curiously, as she looks down at the picture I'm still holding in my hand. She's a smart woman. I know for a fact that she can notice the uncanny resemblance between me and the toddler that is smiling up at us. Same colour of hair, same eyes, same smile. The only thing that Collin has of his mother's is her ears and _maybe_ her chin. "Some kind of relative?" Stella inquires. "Nephew?"

I take a deep breath. And I realize I can't hold it in anymore. Despite my best of intentions, I need to tell someone about him. I look up at her, and my blue eyes lock on her turquoise ones. "Actually, Stel," I begin. "He's my son."

I notice the way Stella recoils slightly as the news hits her square in the chest. It wasn't what she was expecting me to say. It's not every day that a friend you've have from years tells you that they have a child no one knows about. Hell, that _they_ didn't even know about themselves until twenty four hours ago. And I watch as her eyes widen, then flicker back and forth between my face and the picture in my possession.

"His name is Collin," I tell her, and offer her the photo. "Collin Alexander Patrick. He's two and a half. Well, three quarters if you want to get technical."

Stella reaches out and takes the item being held out to her. "This is just…I don't know what to say, Don. I mean, this is just so…wow."

"Yeah…I felt the same thing when I met him yesterday," I admit. "It's pretty surreal, huh?"

She nods. "He's beautiful, though. Absolutely beautiful. There's no doubt about who his daddy is, that's for sure. His last name is Patrick or…"

"Patrick is his third name," I tell her. "His last name is Truby."

Stella's eyes widen as she stares down at the picture.

"Bree-Anne Truby is his mother," I explain. "I went to her place yesterday to talk to her about some things from our past and…well I found out that I have a son. I'm a daddy, Stel. Can you believe that?"

"He's a gorgeous little boy," she says with a smile, and hands me back the photo. "You must be a little…weirded out, to say the least."

"It's a little freaky," I admit. "I mean to go there to make amends and find out that I have a kid? Definitely not how I thought my day would turn out, that's for sure."

"And how's Bree-Anne?" Stella asks. "Is she doing okay? I gave her my number after the trial in case she ever needed someone to talk to, but she never gave me a call. I always thought about her and wondered what she was up to and hoped that she was doing alright. Is she? Alright?"

"She's doing really good. You know, despite the fact that she's got a douchebag of a boyfriend and she's been hiding away from everyone and keeping my kid from me for the last two and a half years."

"I'm sure she had her reasons," Stella says. "I'm sure she didn't do it just to hurt you, Don. I'm sure that she felt it was something she had to do. I know how much…well I know how much the two of you loved each other, and I refuse to believe that she'd ever do anything to purposefully hurt you."

I just give a nod.

"How are you doing?" Stella asks, concern in her voice and written all over her face. "Finding out something like that must be pretty tough to swallow. Are you okay?"

"I'm…" I sigh heavily, and choose my words carefully. "I'm hurt Stella," I admit. "I'm really, really, really hurt."

She gives me a sympathetic smile, then lays her hand on my shoulder and squeezes it softly. "How about we go and get a coffee?" she suggests. "We can go and get a coffee and take a little walk?" she asks hopefully.

"I've got a lot of work to do," I reply. "Paperwork to finish up, some calls to make, a couple of…"

"Some fresh air will do you some good," she informs me and jumping down from my desk, stands behind me and placing her hands on the back of my chair, yanks it away from my desk. "It'll clear your head. Help you to think better," she pats my shoulders once more. "Sound good?"

"Stel, I really can't…"

"My treat," she insists. "We'll have a coffee, get some air, you can tell me about that handsome boy of yours…"

A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth.

"Congratulations daddy," she says, and pecks my cheek once again.

I can't express how amazing a simple five letter word can sound. Or the profound affect it can have on your emotions.

Honestly, no word or title has ever sounded so perfect. Because no matter how many years have passed, no matter how many milestones and events I've missed, Collin is mine. He is my son. I am his daddy.

And that's something no one can ever take away from me.

* * *

**A huge thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and just plain lurking! I appreciate all of the support!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Andorian Ice Princess - AIP**

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	10. Know Your Enemy

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS**

**MASSIVE THANKS TO EVERYONE THAT HELPED ME HIT OVER A HUNDRED REVIEWS IN ONLY NINE CHAPTERS! YOU GUYS ROCK!**

**OKAY, FROM NOW ON, UNLESS OTHERWISE STATED, THE CHAPTERS ARE IN FLACK'S POV! **

* * *

**Know Your Enemy**

"Overthrow the effigy  
The vast majority  
Well, burning down the foreman of control

Silence is the enemy  
Against your urgency  
So rally up the demons of your soul

Do you know the enemy?  
Do you know your enemy?  
Well, gotta know the enemy."  
-Know Your Enemy, Green Day

* * *

"You know," Stella says to me, as she lays a wrinkled five dollar bill on the top of the cash register of the street vendor in front of the precinct, then holds a hand up to signify for him to keep the change. "I can't say that I'm entirely surprised that you managed to get someone pregnant," she continues, as she nods her thanks at the vendor as he sets two take out cups of coffee down in front of us. "And thankful that you only have _one_ love child out there. Not a whole bunch of kiddies you're racking up with all those members of your flavour of the week club."

"Hey!" I object, as she passes me one of the drinks. "It was a bi-weekly flavour club," I give her a wink and nudge her playfully with my elbow.

Stella rolls her eyes, then falls in step beside me and curls her arm around my bicep as we journey slowly down the sidewalk. Away from the precinct and the prying eyes and ears that come with it. I'm certain that by the time I return to my desk and Stella steps onto the elevator to start her trip up to the thirty-fifth floor, that there will be rumours flying around about how cozy we looked during our 'private' time.

"So…" she raises the cardboard cup to her lips and takes a sip of the steaming contents. "Tell me about your son, Don."

"What's there to really say right now?" I ask. "Other then he's two and a half, lives with his mom and grandparents in Flushing, goes to Wallace Cooper daycare on the Upper East Side."

Stella arches a quizzical eyebrow.

"Trust me; I am not happy about that. At all. But it's this jackass that Breezy is dating. He's some kind of bigwig sports agent. Has all kinds of huge names under his belt. Eli Manning, Carlos Delgado, Scott Gomez, Henrik Lunqvuist…"

"Save for Eli Manning you're losing me here," Stella says. "And I only know him because I make Mac watch the Giants when they're playing so that I can check out Manning's butt in those tight pants."

I give a derisive snort and shake my head.

"Hey, I am a red blooded female just like every other lady walking these streets," she defends herself. "I check out the hotties too, you know. I'm just more open and honest about it then men are. You know, how you guys try to hide behind sunglasses when you're really scoping out some hot girl."

"Something tells me that Mac is not like that," I chuckle.

"Well, just as I am a normal red blooded female, he is a normal red blooded male. He's just like you or Danny."

I nearly choke on a mouthful of coffee. "Come on…that's a totally absurd and unfair comparison," I say.

"Who's it unfair to?" Stella asks. "You two or Mac?"

"Mac just doesn't belong in the same category at all," I declare. "He's just so…I don't know…he's just so Mac."

"Never judge a book by its cover. You only know the work Mac. I'm privileged enough to know the private Mac. And that side of him…" Stella gives a drawn out, dreamy sigh and as I glance down at her, I notice how her entire face is glowing and her eyes are sparkling. And that her smile exhibit's a mixture of affection and pride for the man that she loves.

I've never seen that look on Stella before, and I'm suddenly taken back to that night years ago when Mac and I had busted into her apartment after a neighbour had called nine one when they'd heard gunshots and we'd found her unconscious and her then boyfriend Frankie dead. I can vividly recall my time spent at the hospital talking to her, and attempting to provide her with a sense of security and comfort, after her ordeal. Every word that escaped her lips, every little nervous and frightened twitch that she'd made, the sheer terror and confusion in her voice as she recounted what she'd gone through. I can easily bring them all to the forefront of my mind. As if I'm flicking a switch and turning on a light in the back recesses of my brain. I haven't thought about Frankie in a hell of a long time, and I quickly push all thought of him and what he'd done to Stella, back where they belong. And instead concentrate on the fact that she, and Mac for that matter, are so disgustingly happy.

"What?" Stella asks, when she notices me staring at her.

"Nothing," I reply. "I was just thinking that…just that I'm glad that you're so happy, Stel. That you and Mac are doing so well. You guys found something really amazing, you know that? All those years that you two spent working alongside of each other and finally it all comes together for the two of you. It was kind of like you guys were always so close, yet so far from each other. If that makes any sense."

"That's pretty deep and profound for you, Flack," she teases.

"Just saying…" I give a sheepish grin and feel my cheeks flush a little.

"So this boyfriend…" Stella prods me to continue.

"Like I said, he's some high profile agent. Represents a lot of players from the Mets and the Rangers. Couple from the Giants and Knicks too. Guess he's some big shit in his field and owns his own company. I ran his name through the system this morning and…"

Stella gives a laugh.

"What?" I inquire. "This guy is around my kid on a constant basis. I need to know what he's all about if I'm going to trust him around my boy."

"And?" she asks. "What did you find out? Anything juicy and scandalous?"

"He's got no priors. Save for being cited for a couple of times for overdue parking tickets, he's squeaky clean. At least on the books. Off of them? The guy is a total douche. He showed up at Breezy's house when I was there yesterday and I was this close…" I hold my thumb and forefinger half an inch apart. "…to knocking him out. He's an obnoxious prick. The way that he was talking to her? Made me sick, Stel. He was treating her like she was some little kid," I shake my head in disgust. "Condescending bastard," I mutter, and sip my coffee.

"Sounds like you're more worried about him being around her then you are about him being around your son," Stella remarks.

"Honestly? Yeah, it irritates the shit out of me that she's with someone like him. 'Cause Breezy is not like that. She's not all about the Benjamins. She never has been. And this guy…this guy is a pompous ass. He's an arrogant, abrasive douche. Simple as."

"The word douche twice in less than five minutes," Stella observes. "You must really hate the guy. But do you hate him because he's honestly everything you say he is, or are you looking for all of that because you have a problem with him dating the mother of your son?"

"He _is_ everything I say he is," I insist. "A few minutes with him and I knew everything I needed to know. He's a total dickhead and I can't stand the thought of him being anywhere near my son. And I especially can't stand the thought of him and Breezy…" I can't even force myself to finish that sentence. "He's a prick. There's no getting around that. And he's just walking around thinking he's King Shit, like he can just run my family."

"Don, technically they aren't your family," Stella says gently. "Bree-Anne hasn't been in your life for almost four years now and…"

"Three and a half," I correct irritably. "It's been three and a half years since Dean was arrested."

"…and you can't expect her to just fall into your arms and drop everything to be with you," Stella continues. "It's not as if things ended on a good note for the two of you. Your break up was nasty and there were extenuating circumstances that just made things even harder for both of you. Christ Don, her husband stoke drugs from a raid you were in charge of and killed an innocent kid. Did you really think the two of you would survive all of that unscathed? Or that you'd get through that trial still intact as a couple?"

I give a shrug and sip my coffee. "I guess I thought we loved each other enough to get through all of that," I say.

"This wasn't just your average mixed bag of problems that you were dealing with," Stella reminds me. "This wasn't just the normal crap that couples face. We're not talking about a bust up over finances or an affair or the fact that one of you fell out of love with the other one. Dean was a murderer. A monster. And not even the strongest of couples could get through that in one piece. No one is to blame for how things ended between the two of you. Both of you cracked, plain and simple. But what you're both to blame for is the fact that you let nearly four years get away from the two of you. Four years where you could have been together instead of jumping into relatively meaningless relationships because you were both too stubborn to apologize."

"Jess wasn't meaningless," I try not to sound too defensive.

"I know that you cared about Jess," Stella says. "Those were the exact words you used, Don. That day you asked me about Jess' involvement with Kolovos. I noticed the way you hesitated when you went to say how you felt about her. How there was that brief second where the L word was on the tip of her tongue, and how you pulled it back at the last second. You told me that you cared about her. And I could see in your eyes that you were telling the truth. But what I didn't see was love. And she died shortly afterwards and maybe…maybe eventually it would have turned to love. But let's not disrespect your heart, or hers, by calling it something it wasn't."

I sigh heavily and give a solemn nod.

"And at the risk of betraying her myself, she confided in me that she knew you were still in love with Bree-Anne," Stella admits, and her words stop me in my tracks.

"She told you that?" I ask, as Stella releases her grip on my arm and steps in front of me.

"She told me that your heart would always belong to Bree-Anne, and that if she wanted to be with you, that she had to accept that you'd never fully be hers. That your ex girlfriend would always overshadow things. That there'd always be a part of you that would wonder about what your life would be like if you'd gone after Bree-Anne instead of letting her walk away. And she told me about the ring, too."

"For fucks sakes," I mutter, and shake my head.

"About how you were never able to get rid of it and how you'd gotten nasty with her when she even dared to suggest that you sell it or throw it away. And you know what? Jess was willing to settle for whatever piece of your heart you were giving up to her. But let's face it, she was never going to have you to herself. You weren't ever going to get over Bree-Anne completely."

"So I love her," I say. "I've always loved her. I always will love her. But I was capable of loving Jess too. And I was starting too. I was starting to love her and then…" I have to stop when my voice cracks with emotion. "There's been two women I've loved in my life, Stel, and I've lost both of them. And now I sound like a complete prick for being in love with one woman while carrying on with another."

"No one is saying that you're a bad person for still being in love with Bree-Anne. There's always one person in our life that we'll always love and wonder what if about. But I want you to think long and hard about whether what you're feeling right now is the real deal, or if you've convinced yourself you're in love with her because you don't want to be alone."

"I don't want to be alone," I admit. "But I love Breezy. I love her and I want her back. This goes far beyond her being the mother of my kid, Stella. I don't want to be with her 'cause she gave birth to my son. I want to be with her because of everything that exists between us. This isn't just some girl I dated and got pregnant. This is someone that I have all this history with. And I can't ignore that. She's been my everything since I was fourteen. She was my first. First kiss, first real girlfriend, first lover. And I can't just pretend like none of that ever existed between us. And I can't just turn my feelings off for her either."

"But there's not just you and Bree-Anne to be concerned about anymore, Don. You can't just charge back into her life expecting things to go back to how they were when you were a teenager or how they even were when she was married to Dean. So much has changed since then and you need to realize that maybe…well maybe she doesn't feel the same way about you. You're her son's father. You're Collin's daddy. No one can take that away from you. But maybe she doesn't see you in any other way."

I sigh heavily and rake a hand through my hair. "There's more between us than that," I insist. "I can't explain it. I just know that I felt it. That I saw it. When I was with her yesterday…I don't know…I saw it in her eyes and I felt it pass between us. What we had is still there."

"There's a lot of hearts involved here," Stella reminds me. "It's not just the two of you. There's the boyfriend…"

"Fuck him!" I snap. "Who gives a shit about that asshole? Breezy doesn't belong with him! He doesn't deserve her. She doesn't even deserve someone like me! But I'm the one that loves her, Stella. I'm the one that she's meant to be with. Not him. And my son…well my son deserves to have his dad around. Not some goddamn poor excuse for a substitute."

"So what are you going to do, Don?" Stella asks. "Are you just going to strong arm your way back into Bree-Anne's life? Are you going to just sit her down and tell her who she's supposed to be with?"

"Of course not," I reply.

"Because I am telling you right now, regardless of how you are feeling or what you think she's feeling, you can't just expect her to jump back into something with you. Not after everything that's gone down between the two of you. Things were nasty and it was a tough time for both of you and…"

"And I let her walk away and never made good on any of the promises I made to her," I finish. "I promised her always and forever and I never came through. I let her get away and I never had the balls to go after her once in the past three years since that day in the courthouse. I fucked up, Stel. I hurt her. I know that. But I can make it up to her. We've got this second chance and I can make good on those promises now."

"If she'll let you," Stella points out.

"Exactly. And even if she never takes me back and we're never a family, at least I know I tried. At least I know that I went back for her and told her how I felt about her. I won't spend the rest of my life kicking myself in the ass for never trying to get her back. And I'll still have Collin. I'll still have my son; something amazing and incredible that Breezy and I made together."

She gives a soft smile and nods. "I just don't want you to get your hopes up, Don," she says. "And I don't want you to get her hopes up either. Or that little boy's."

"He needs his daddy, Stel. His _real_ daddy."

"He does. But what he doesn't need is his real daddy coming into his life one minute, and then leaving the first time something goes bad or doesn't work out the way he wants it to."

"I am not like that," I argue. "I'm not going to bail on Breezy and Collin when we hit a rough patch. Once I'm in their lives, I'm there to stay. No taking off when the chips are down. I'm not like that. That's not me."

Stella raises both eyebrows and stares at me pointedly.

"Okay…so I was like that. Past tense. But I've learned my lesson. I've grown up. This is my third chance with Breezy. First time we were young and stupid and things when belly up when she went away to school. Second time…well we all know what happened the second time."

Stella nods slowly.

"But I love her," I stress. "I've always loved her. And now we have this beautiful kid together. I'm a dad because of her, Stel. I've got the start of an amazing life and I just need the chance to rebuild the bridge between us."

"Rome wasn't built in a day, Don. I know that you want all of this to be instantaneous, but after everything that's happened, you don't honestly think that happily ever after is going to happen in one night, do you?"

Truth be told, that's exactly what I'm aiming for. I want to be able to just insert myself into Breezy's life and have us be madly and passionately in love with one another right off the hop. I want us to be husband and wife, get a nice little house in the same neighbourhood we grew up in, raise Collin together and have a shit load of other babies together. I want to be standing, in my dress blues, at the end of the aisle in the same church I frequented every Sunday as a kid and served as an altar boy in, watching her float towards me on the arm of her proud father. I long to be breathless and near tears at the sight of her in a stunning white dress with a delicate veil covering her face. I want to hear her telling me that she's pregnant and then I want to go through the accompanying months with her, attending ultrasound appointments and being awed by the sight of my baby's heartbeat as they thrive and grow inside of her. I want to hold her hand through the delivery and be the first person my brand new son or daughter sees.

I want it all. All the amazing and wonderful things a life together has to offer. The love and the laughter, and the tears and the turmoil. I'm not running anymore. I'm tired of constantly trying to escape ghosts, especially when the one person that can banish them is back in my life.

* * *

"I know you love her, Don," Stella reaches out to softly rub my arm. "I can see it in your eyes whenever you say her name that this is the real deal. But I just don't want you rushing things. And most of all, I don't want her and that little guy getting hurt."

"I just don't understand how things went so bad," I say. "And I'm talking about right from when we graduated high school. We had plans, Stel. We were going to get married before we were even legal age to celebrate with champagne. We had our entire future planned and then…" I shake my head. "…and then I went and let her down my going into the academy instead of going to college with her. And I…"

"You did **not** let her down," Stella informs me. "You saw her on the stand. You heard everything she said about you. About how she was insisting that it went far beyond an affair. She fought tooth and nail to keep the truth from coming out. She didn't want to incriminate or tarnish you. She wanted to protect you. Everyone in that courtroom could hear it in her voice and see it all over her face. She loved you. And she showed right there and then that she'd do anything for you. That's love of enormous proportions. And respect and pride go hand in hand with that."

"I just keep thinking about how if I'd gone with her to Georgetown…"

"Don, what if's are a bitch and they only get in the way of letting yourself live your life. We all have regrets. We all question things we've done and choices we've made. But you can't torture yourself like this. You were an eighteen-year-old kid back then. You were both young and immature. And chances are, had you gone into a marriage that young? Well things probably wouldn't have worked out for you. And now…" she squeezes my arm gently. "…well now you're both mature adults and you have this incredible change to make things right. You realize that right?"

I nod in response. "Jess would still be alive if I'd never fucked up with Breezy the second time around," I say.

"Jesus Don…" Stella shakes her head and looks up at me with sympathy. "Is that really what you think? What happened to Jess was not your fault. Her being in that diner that day had nothing to do with the two of you as a couple. It had no bearing on you and she probably would have been there regardless of whether you were involved with her or not. One has nothing to do with the other. She was a cop. She was doing her job. Plain and simple. What went down would have happened whether she was your girlfriend or not."

"But I wouldn't have gone there and found her like that," I reason. "I wouldn't have been the one taking her to the hospital in the back of a blue and white, feeling her blood seeping through my fingers and watching her slip away from me. I wouldn't have been the person that doctor gave the bad news to and I wouldn't have been the one standing in the OR over her dead body and…" I stop myself there. Save for Sid, no one knows about those last moments that I spent at Jess side. Stroking her lifeless, yet still warm hand, letting all the thoughts of what could have been stampede through my mind. Silently going over all the things that I still had to tell her and experience with her and torturing myself over the fact I'd never get the chance to do either. That time I spent with her is precious to me. To us. And I can't betray Jess by sharing that moment with anyone outside of us.

"Jess wouldn't want this," Stella tells me, her curls whipping against her face as she shakes her head vigorously. "She wouldn't want you doing this to yourself. It happened, Don. It happened and I know that it hurts like hell, but you're still here. You're still alive. And you need to let go and start living again. That's what she'd want. And she knew you loved Bree-Anne and she'd want you to take the gift that's being offered to you."

"I know…" I say, my voice heavy with emotion.

"Just don't screw it up by being…well by being you," Stella gives a small laugh in an effort to lighten the mood. "Don't be aggressive and pushy and forceful with her. Be patient and attentive and understanding. Trust me, if you go into things like that, you'll like the results a whole lot better."

I chew thoughtfully on my bottom lip as I allow Stella's words -her incredible pearls of wisdom- to sink in. She's right, of course. There's rarely a time where her advice isn't bang on. Although I'd never tell her that of course. A smirk tugs at my lips and I look down at her. "You ever think of giving up your day job?" I ask. "Hand in your badge and gun for a note pad and pen and a leather couch? Goodbye CSI, hello shrink?"

"Are you kidding?" she laughs, and rubbing my arm one last time, steps alongside of me and loops her arm around mine once more as she continue our journey down the sidewalk. "I am the last person who should be giving advice to anyone. I have way too many neuroses to even think about helping someone else. And besides, if I ever changed professions, I wouldn't be able to dole out the therapy for free. I'd have to charge you and arm and a leg."

"True," I chuckle. "Better that you're an armchair quack than a legit one."

"Speaking of therapists…" Stella gently prods.

"No. I haven't gone back to the department shrink after I told her she was a nut job and that she didn't know what the hell she was talking about. I don't have PTSD, Stella. There's nothing wrong with me. I'm a perfectly sound mind and body. I was grieving. I still am in some ways. But I don't have 'issues'. I just need time to deal with things. On my own."

"You always have been a stubborn bastard," she muses. "And just because I love you as much as I do, I won't push the subject further."

"Thank you," I say, and sip my coffee.

"So what are you going to do about the boyfriend?" Stella inquires.

"I don't know," I reply. "But I know about a hundred and one different places to hide a body and I'm pretty sure that Messer wields an awesome shovel. Or if I finally give in to Adam's pestering about taking his sister out on a date, maybe he could score me some crazy ass chemical that I can slip into the douche bag's coffee. You know, tasteless, odourless, colourless. Something untraceable."

"I was thinking more along the lines of something…_legal_," Stella says.

"What fun is there in that?" I ask with a grin. "I think something slow and painful is right up this guy's alley. I like to play with my prey before I kill them. You know, torture him until he's crying for his mommy."

"You have watched those Saw movies way too many times," she declares.

"I guess I'll tackle the problem of Phil when I get to it," I conclude. "Right now…right now I just want to get to know my son. Get to know Breezy all over again."

Stella smiles and hugs my arm to her. "Cool nickname, by the way."

"What?" I ask. "Breezy?"

She nods. "What ever made you call her that?"

"I don't know," I admit. "I was fourteen when I came up with that. I mean, for some reason my brain just took Bree-Anne and turned it into Breezy. There's no real reason behind it. I just did it and it stuck."

"It's adorable," Stella says. "Totally not something I'd expect from you."

"Well back then I was a study in contradiction," I tell her. "As far as I know, no one else has ever called her that. It was our thing. It still is."

Stella nods, then falls silent for a couple of minutes. "We all wondered you know," she finally says. "If the baby was yours. When we all say her in court and say that she was pregnant and then the news of your relationship got out. We all wondered if just maybe…"

"I wondered too," I admit. "But she'd told me that the baby was Dean's and I didn't see the reason to doubt her. I should have made sure I went and say her after the baby was born and pushed the issues. But I didn't. Another stupid ass mistake on my part, I guess."

"Life is full of those," Stella reasons. "Just make sure you don't make anymore, okay? Now tell me some more stuff about Collin!" she enthusiastically squeezes my arm. "Tell me what he looks like and..."

"You saw the picture," I remind her.

"Tell me," she encourages.

"Well, he's got black hair and huge blue eyes. And these long dark eyelashes. He's gorgeous. But what do you expect? I _am_ his father."

"Arrogant to the bitter end," she laughs.

"And he's so smart," I shake my head in disbelief. "So smart, Stella. You should hear how great he talks. It's amazing. He's got his mother's brains, that's for sure. You'd never believe he was just shy of three with the things he says. It's crazy how intelligent he is. Scary almost. Too smart for his own good, I think. And he loves hockey."

"What's his eating like?" Stella asks.

My eyes narrow; perplexed as I look down at her. "What do you mean?" I ask.

"His appetite," Stella clarifies. "What's it like? Does he love food? Can he pack it in like he's a walking, talking garbage disposal? Does he never stop shovelling it in?"

"I don't get…"

Stella gives an exasperated sigh. "If he's any of the above then he's definitely a Flack," she declares.

"Very funny," I mutter, then chuckle as she bumps her hip with mine.

"You're going to be a great daddy," Stella says confidently. "That little boy is going to be very, very lucky to have you in his life."

"Not as lucky as I am to have him and his mother in mine," I declare.

"Well when things get settled between the two of you, you should bring her over to our place," Stella says. "We'd love to have the two of you over for dinner."

"_Our_ place?" I ask. "_We'd_? Gee, Stel. Way you're talking makes it sound like you and Mac are living together or something."

She gives me a small.

"Seriously?" I inquire. "When did this happen?"

"It's happening this weekend, actually. I've found someone to sublet my place and I'm moving into Mac's. It's bigger and God knows it could use a woman's touch. It needs a transformation from man cave to hearth and home."

"Congratulations," I say, and drop a kiss on the top of her head. "I'm glad you two are finally getting your heads out of your collective asses and…" I nearly trip over someone that steps unexpectedly into my path. A skinny, scrawny kid with a head full of blond curls, pimples dotting his baby face and a gap between his top front teeth. He looks barely old enough to have graduated high school, and his white dress shirt and his plain black tie are both wrinkled. Giving him a 'just rolled out of bed' appearance.

"Detective Donald Flack Junior?" he asks, and when I see the clipboard and envelope in his left hand, I know this isn't good. Neither is the uniform officer that's lingering several feet away, watching us intently.

"That would be me," I reply.

"You people are like vultures," Stella declares, as the kid holds out his clipboard and taps his pen against the empty space alongside of my neatly typed name and whereabouts.

I yank the writing utensil none too gently from his hand, and uncapping it with my teeth, scrawl my signature in the appropriate place. Then I spit the cap into the gutter and hand him back the pen.

"I'm just doing my job," he laments.

"Then go on and do it," I say, and hold out my hand. "Go on and say the words I know you're dying to say."

"You've been served," he announces, and slaps the envelope into my palm.

"No shit," I retort.

"Have a nice day!" he calls over his shoulder as he practically skips down the sidewalk.

"This can't be good," I say to Stella, as I tear into the envelope.

"It's probably some perp that feels you were violated his rights in some way, shape or form," she tells me.

I pull the neatly typed, legal form out of the envelope, and only one line into the information printed on it, my heart is pounding in my chest and my fingers are gripping the sides of the paper so tightly its wrinkling and tearing.

"What is it?" Stella asks worriedly. "Don…what's wrong?"

"It's a restraining order," the words leave a bitter taste in my mouth. "Saying I have to stay a hundred yards away from Breezy and Collin."

"What?" Stella nearly rips the letter from my hands. "Why would she…?"

"Citing my fragile emotional state and my well documented struggles with, and failure to get help for, post traumatic stress disorder," I bite my bottom lip so hard I nearly draw blood. "Apparently it puts them at risk because I'm unstable."

"You are far from unstable," Stella says. "I mean, you're doing just fine. You're working, you've never had any problems, you're solid and dependable."

"I froze three times in the field when I had the choice to take down a perp," I add.

"That does not make you emotionally fragile or a threat," she argues. "Anyone who knows you can vouch for that."

"And it says that I have to 'relinquish all firearms'. I'm a cop. How the fuck am I supposed to do my job if…"

"Detective Flack?"

I see Stella visibly flinch, then tense as Chief Sinclair's voice addresses me. And I look up from the letter in my hands, rage threatening to consume me as my commanding officer and the uniform approach me.

"You're being placed on modified duties pending further notification," Sinclair tells me, then holds out his hand. "I need your service weapon and your back up."

"This restraining order is bullshit!" I snap. "I didn't do anything wrong! I didn't hurt anyone and I won't hurt anyone!"

"Well your ex-girlfriend's husband seems to think otherwise," Sinclair informs me.

"He's not her husband!" I retort. "He's only her fucking boyfriend!"

"And as her boyfriend, he has the right to be worried about her well being. And that of their child," my boss says.

"Their child? He's my son. Not his! And I'm not going to hurt either of them. I love them. Why would I…"

"Your weapons, Detective…" Sinclair motions for me to hand them over.

"These complaints against him are outrageous!" Stella cries. "You can't tell me that you're going to take some jealous boyfriend's word over Don's! Over a well respected officer! That's just ridiculous!"

"We're simply following the law Detective Bonasera," Sinclair responds. "There's been a restraining order filed and we need to follow procedure."

"That order is crap!" Stella exclaims. "Pure and utter crap!"

"Your weapons, Detective," Sinclair ignores her completely.

Sighing heavily, I reach underneath my jacket and unclip the strap holding my gun inside my holster.

"Is that really necessary?" Stella asks, as she notices the uniform lay his hand on his own weapon. "You really think he's going to shoot you? In broad daylight? In the middle of a sidewalk?"

The uniform looks at Sinclair, unsure of what to do.

"Stand down," the Chief of Detectives orders. "Desk duty," he tells me, as I remove my gun from my holster and release the clip before setting them both down in his hand. "Until we look into this and get things cleared up."

"I bet you're just going to get right on that," I snort, and bending down, lift my pant leg to retrieve my back up weapon from my ankle holster.

"We're only following protocol." Sinclair informs me, as I place the second and final gun in his palm. "I'm not accusing you of anything, Detective Flack. If you want to return to the precinct and contact a union lawyer…" he gestures towards the stationhouse, indicating it's not a suggestion. It's a polite order.

"Give me a few minutes here." I say. Then add, "Please," when it appears that Sinclair has no plans on walking away without me.

"Make it quick," he instructs, then reluctantly walk away, uniform officer following hot on his heels.

I sigh heavily, then look at over at a grim face Stella. "I need a huge favour," I tell her.

"Anything," she promises.

"I don't have Breezy's home number or the one for her cell phone. But when I'd signed back in, Tina told me that Breezy had said she was in the neighbourhood and had stopped in to see me. So she's probably still in Manhattan somewhere. And if I know Breezy, there's only one person she'd be with. And only one person who'd be willing to help us."

"Who?"

"Biance DeFazio. Breezy's best friend. She's in the book, Stel. She's in the book and she'll give you Breezy's cell number."

"Do you want me to call her myself when I get it or…"

"I want you to drop the number off at my desk. Put it in my top drawer. Then I'll…"

"You can't go against that order, Don. You go against that order and you'll be in for a world of hurt."

"I've got to take that chance," I tell her. "I need to find Breezy. I need to talk to her. She's the only one that can get me out of this mess."

Stella sighs and gives an understanding nod.

"I've got to get this overturned," I hold up the restraining order. "And she's the only one that can help me do that."

"Just be careful." Stella pleads. "Just promise me you'll be careful."

"As careful as I can be," I say, and reach out to tousle her curls affectionately. "This will all work out," I assure her, as I turn and head for the precinct. "Somehow."

"I hope so!" she calls out to me. "Good luck, Don!"

I wave my thanks.

Unfortunately, luck doesn't seem to be on my side lately.

* * *

**I wasn't going to post until I hit double digits in reviews for the last chapter, but I got this down ahead of schedule and couldn't resist! Thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and just lurking! Please R and R folks! Makes me day!!!**

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**blueyedauthor**


	11. You Belong With Me

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS, PREVIOUS PLOTS, ETC, ETC, ETC.**

**THANKS TO EVERYONE THAT IS ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVES!**

* * *

**You Belong With Me**

"Oh, I remember you driving to my house in the middle of the night  
I'm the one who makes you laugh when you know you're 'bout to cry  
And I know your favorite songs and you tell me 'bout your dreams  
Think I know where you belong, think I know it's with me

Can't you see that I'm the one who understands you?  
Been here all along, so why can't you see?  
You belong with me."  
-You Belong With Me, Taylor Swift

* * *

If Janice from Friends and Hilda Suarez -the older and only sibling of the title character in Ugly Betty- were to ever mix it up, Bianca DeFazio would be their love child. With a little Fran Drescher as The Nanny tossed in for good measure.

In high school, she'd been the girl that every guy wanted; including me at times With that thick, ringlet perm hair that tumbled to the middle of her back -the bangs of which she seemed to tease impossibly higher every time I saw her- and her smooth olive skin and huge brown eyes that she played up with layers of black eyeliner and mascara, she'd been flirtatious and outgoing. Easily and successfully turning on us guys with her school blouse worn two sizes too tight so they showed off her ample assets and stunning curves, and her kilt barely covering her ass and giving us a sneak peak of a seemingly endless supply of barely there girls satin boxers. She'd used up more boyfriends in four years than some women went through in her lifetimes, and whether or not she slept with every once, or there was actual truth behind her claim -following our 'moment' in the back of my father's caddy after the senior prom- that I'd been the lucky one to go where no man had ever gone before, I'll never know. Up until then, I had only been with Breezy, and while we had been having sex on a nearly daily basis from the time we were fifteen and I was still relatively inexperienced, it had been pretty damn obvious that Bianca had _at least _been to third base with her fair share of guys. She'd known way too much for a girl that protested to be a virgin, and it had been somewhat startling that while I'd been left disgusted with myself for cheating on my long time girlfriend, Bianca had never once expressed regret for what we'd done. And had honestly seemed genuinely surprised that not only had I been the one to confess to Breezy after what had happened, but that Breezy had cut off all ties to her. I supposed she'd seriously underestimated how serious things that been between Breezy and I, and had taken my one moment of pathetic weakness as a sign that I wasn't as in love with my girlfriend as I had claimed.

I'd been eighteen and both pissed off that my girlfriend had decided to stick to her plan of away to college even though I was staying behind. I had thought -seeing as we had plans of getting married as soon as we hit twenty and starting a family as soon as she received her degree and found herself a steady teaching position while I slaved away in a uniform- that Breezy would decide to tell Georgetown she wasn't coming and that she'd opt for NYU or Columbia, her second and third choices for post secondary education. We'd gotten into a heated argument when she'd informed me that she was going regardless of whether I stayed in New York City or not, and that I was being selfish and possessive by trying to convince her to put her dreams on the back burner to make myself happy. And the situation only got worse when she'd announced a week before our prom that her parents had gone behind her back and had enrolled her in a teen's religious retreat for the exact same weekend. And that there was no way she could get out of it without being completely disowned by her fanatic of an old man. Then she'd offered up Bianca as some kind of poor man's consolation prize and I'd been in just the right of mind to take her up on it.

Not that that had given me the excuse to cheat on my girlfriend with her best friend. Her only friend to be precise. But at eighteen I wasn't exactly using my head -at least not the one on my shoulders- and when Bianca had suggested on the way home that we 'stop somewhere and just hang out for a bit' I had argued. Nor had I protested when she'd practically pounced on me the second I'd parked in that empty, quiet elementary school lot a mile from my house. I'd barely gotten the key out of the ignition and she'd been on me, her scarlet red lipstick staining my lips as she unceremoniously shoved her tongue down my throat and had greedily made short work of my belt buckle and the button and zipper on my pants. I don't even know how we'd gotten into the backseat, but the sex itself had been quick and less than memorable; my pants and boxers barely yanked below my ass and her dress shoved up to her waist and her panties pushed to the side. And the only thing that had actually gotten me off was the fact that I'd thought of Breezy the entire time. I'd simply closed my eyes and imagined that it was her perched in my lap grinding herself into me, that it was her ass I was tightly gripping the entire time and that it was her teeth nipping at my neck and suckling aggressively at my skin. I'm pretty sure I'd even called Bianca by Breezy's name, although it's something she never confessed to and something I never had the heart to ask her about.

I'd immediately been struck by tremendous guilt. The moment I'd come down from my release, I'd been horrified to realize that it wasn't my girlfriend that I'd just banged in the backseat of my father's beloved Caddy. That the young woman clinging to me, pressing kisses along my sweaty throat and ears, and proclaiming that she loved me and had always known it had been her that I wanted was in fact my worst nightmare. Because aside from that killer body and her looks, Bianca had long ago stopped doing something for me. Maybe it was because I'd been with Breezy for the past four years of my life and she was smart, funny, and devastatingly beautiful in that fresh faced, girl next-door kind of way. That she had this slight naivety that not even I had managed to strip her of. She'd hung on to her morals and her beliefs -well, most of them anyway- and had never given in to the peer pressure that being the girlfriend of the captain of the football and hockey team had thrust at her constantly. I loved Breezy; she was going to be my wife, the mother of my child, my always and forever. And Bianca…well Bianca was nothing short of annoying with her high-pitched voice and her nerve shattering cackle. I'd gone with her to the prom as a favour to Breezy. Because she'd felt bad that she hadn't been able to make it and didn't want me either staying home, or going alone. Bianca had been a replacement and I'd gone ahead and completely disrespected and betrayed my high school sweetheart. I'd been disgusted with myself, and I'd literally shoved Bianca off of me and had quickly yanked my pants up and climbed back into the front seat. No words had even been spoken on the drive to her house, and when she'd asked me to come in because her folks were out of town, I'd told her to take a hike.

Two days later, when Breezy had returned from her retreat, I'd been waiting in our church parking lot when that school bus had pulled in to drop her and the other teens off to their respective parents. She'd been surprised to see me in place of her father, and all these years later I can still see the enormous smile that covered her face and the little shriek of excitement that she'd let out when she'd seen me. I vividly recall that she'd been wearing a bright yellow eyelet blouse with delicate capped sleeves, a pair of white linen pants with tiny green and yellow flowers embroidered around the cuffs, and a pair of white canvas shoes with neon orange laces. Her hair had been pushed away from her make up free face with a wide, white fabric head band and the pony tail she sported at the back swung wildly from side to side as she raced across the parking lot towards me and then leapt into my arms. I can even still feel her arms around my neck and taste the cherry flavoured lip-gloss that she'd transferred onto my mouth when she'd planted a long, steamy kiss on my lips. One that caused quite a few eyebrows to rise among the church counsellors that had been acting as trip chaperones.

I'd broken Breezy's heart that day. We'd sat on the very swings where we'd had our first real kiss when we were fourteen and I told her all about what had happened between me and Bianca. I'd been remorseful; she'd been shattered. And when I'd begged and pleaded with her to say something, anything, and I'd attempted to reach out to use gentle hands to clear away the tears that coursed down her cheeks, she'd knocked me on my ass. Literally. She'd landed a solid left that had not only taken me by complete surprised, but had bloodied my nose, and when I'd brought my hand to my face to inspect the damage, she'd laid both her hands on my shoulders and had shoved me backwards off of the swing and onto the grass that was still damp from the rain the night before.

"I hate you!" she'd screamed, as I managed -the wind knocked almost clear out of me- to push myself up into a sitting position. "How could you do this to me, Donnie! After everything I've done for you! After everything I've given you! I gave you something that was important and precious to me! And this is how you repay me after four years! This is how you show me you love me, you fucking prick!"

Through my blurry eyes -tears of both anguish and pain- I'd watched as she had ripped the charm bracelet I'd given her off of her wrist, snapping the clasp in the process, and then had felt it hit me in the chest when she'd thrown it at me. And I'd sat there, as she rushed away. As fast as her legs could take her, her sobs drifting across the expanse of the football field.

It had been two weeks before she'd talked to me again. I'd been trying, in vain, to call her and apologize for what I had done, and to beg her for her forgiveness. To convince her that it was my one and only mistake and that I'd never hurt her again, and that I loved her and would always love her. Her father answered the phone each and every time, repeating in an irritated, harsh voice that clearly indicated I was an asshole that deserved to burn in hell, that Breezy didn't want to talk to me. Ever. And that if I knew what was good for me, and if I loved her like I said I did, I'd let her go and walk away. I hadn't of course. There had been no way in hell, even when I was a moronic eighteen-year-old that I was going to live without her. And I'd been relieved, and slightly guarded, when I'd come out of One Police Plaza after completely my final physical before starting at the academy in September, to find her standing on the sidewalk, arms crossed over her chest as she tapped her foot impatiently, her mouth set in a grim line.

"I told you a month ago that I'd come with you to this," she'd said, when I'd asked her what she was doing there. "That I'd support you no matter what. Well here I am, Donnie. I said I would come for you and here I am."

We'd taken a long, slow stroll through Central Park, sipping drinks -a strawberry banana smoothie for her, a Coke for me- and talking about where we'd gone so wrong in our relationship. We'd both made mistakes and we'd both owned up to them. The truth remained; we loved each other and we weren't prepared to think about a life apart, never mind experience it. And we'd our 'kiss and make-up' moment. Right there in front of the famed Bethesda fountain, Breezy in her bare feet, standing on the ledge with her arms curled around my neck, and me with one arm wrapped around her waist and my other hand holding her sandals.

Breezy didn't make up with Bianca until the day she was leaving for Georgetown. I don't know exactly what had been said between them, but I do know that their friendship since had prevailed through thick and thin. Bianca had been there when Breezy had needed someone the most. Both during her tumultuous times with Dean, and the hell that I'd put her through after breaking each and every one of my promises I'd made to her. As annoying as Bianca is, she's fiercely loyal and dependable. And I'll never be able to thank her enough for taking care of Breezy for me for the past three and half years.

Even if, as I stride purposefully through the front doors of Saks Fifth Avenue, I am mildly pissed with the woman. While Stella had been successful in both prying Bianca's cell phone number out of the Filipino nanny that had answered the phone at Bianca's penthouse apartment on the Upper West Side, she'd been unable to convince Bianca to give her Breezy's number. Although Stella had achieved in getting Bianca to fess up to the fact that she and my ex girlfriend were not only together, but currently making their way towards Saks. I'd found this information scrawled on a piece of paper shoved in the top drawer of my desk when I'd returned from both a colourful dressing down from Sinclair in my Lieutenant's office, and the news that I wouldn't get a union lawyer on such short notice and I'd have to wait to the following morning to plead my innocence. The Chief of Detectives had also stood over my shoulder the entire time I'd finished my paper work for the case I'd wrapped up with Mac, and then had slowly and methodically checked that I'd dotted every I and crossed every T before he informed me that I could go home for the night.

"And stay the hell away from that girl!" Sinclair's last words had been to me as I'd hurried out of the bullpen, armed with the info that Stella had managed to procure for me, and determined to make things right on my own. I'm not going to let an obnoxious bastard like Phil ruin my life, and short of actually tracking him down at his office and going there and ripping him another asshole, I'll do the next best thing.

I'll use Breezy against him.

"Can I help you, sir?" a salesclerk blocks my path as I attempt to make my way towards the back of the luxury store, where the women's department is located.

"NYPD," I say in response, and nod down at the badge clipped to the waist of my jeans. "I'm here for someone."

Her sparse eyebrows shoot up and her scarlet red lips form a perfect O. "Oh dear," she lays an elegantly manicured hand over her heart. "Has something happened? Do we have a shoplifter? Is one of our customers in trouble? Is this a repeat of a few years back? Where that dreadful young woman was going around stealing from all the high-end places? You know, Bergdorf's was hit right before we were and lost over twenty thousand in merchandise. We were a little luckier seeing as our security staff keeps a tighter reign on things and…"

"I'm just here to see someone," I interrupt. "And she's right back there," I nod in the direction of the women's department. "So if you don't mind…"

"An employee?" she asks, and sidesteps in order to block my way once more.

"A customer," I reply. "A very important customer that I'm sure spends loads of cash in here on a yearly basis. Hell, on a monthly basis. Or even weekly. Bianca DeFazio, do you know her?"

I've gambled tossing out Bianca's name like that. I honestly have no clue if she's as a big of a spender as she lets on that she is, or if she's one of those frugal rich people who hate spending the cash and instead let it marinate in the bank. Or under their mattress. But I'm rewarded for my attempt at name-dropping when the clerk's eyes widen.

"She's one of our most valued customers," she gushes.

"Well one of our most valued customers happens to be a very good friend of mine and I desperately need to talk to her. So if you could just…" I motion for the woman to get the hell out of my way.

"Yes! Yes of course!" she cries, and steps aside. "I'm so very sorry, Officer. I was just concerned that perhaps we had some troublemakers here or that one of our costumers needed some assistance. My apologies. I didn't mean to…"

"Don't worry about it," I say, and hurry through the store. A man on a mission, I ignore the curious stares cast my way by the handful of shoppers that are browsing the racks of overpriced and over-hyped designer goods. The select few are frightened at the sight of a cop strolling purposefully through the store, the rest are only concerned about the fact that I obviously don't belong there. In my worn out jeans, scuffed boots and tattered t-shirt, I stick out like a sore thumb.

And I honestly don't give a rat's ass.

* * *

I hear Bianca before I see her. I'm a yard away from the entrance to the spacious and elegant changing area, and that voice and that laugh just hit me. She's always been loud and obnoxious in an oddly charming and appealing way, but when she gives her patented cackle, I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end and the last of my nerves threaten to shatter. And then I see her, lounging in a leopard print armchair in the waiting area that separates one side of changing stalls from the other, a cell phone pressed to her ear with one hand, and the dangerously long, eggplant purple fingernails of the other tapping out a beat on the Gucci purse that rests in her lap. Clad in a pair of black patent leather heels and a black mini skirt and blazer over a red silk blouse, the woman is just dripping in jewellery. Bracelets, a watch, a ring on nearly every finger, three necklaces; she's practically drowning in a sea of gold and various gemstones. And I have to navigate around the various bags from high-end stores that litter the floor around her.

"Bianca!" I hear Breezy's voice from behind one of the brocade curtains that close off the stalls. "There is no way that this dress is an eight! No way in hell! I can't get it over my hips and my ass! The red Jessica Rabbit one!"

"Sweetheart…" Bianca drawls. "This is Saks Fifth Avenue, not Target. And that dress you're trying on is a Dior. Meaning that an eight is actually a four in the land of skinny, anorexic broads."

"So if an eight is actually a four, then are you telling me Dior considers me a sixteen!" Breezy shrieks. "What a bastard! Now that we've concluded that I'm a heffer, can we please not do this anymore? Can we just call it a day and go to Central Park and get a funnel cake to drown my sorrows in?"

"Now you listen to me, darling!" Bianca wags a talon in the direction of the change room. "In the real world you are an eight! But in the land of designers and plastic bitches and fake tits, you're a tad bigger! How many times do we have to go through this? You really need to get out of Queens more. Or at least stop shopping in Old Navy and Wal-Mart!"

"Never mind a funnel cake," Breezy mutters. "Just drive me to the Brooklyn Bridge and I'll get out and throw myself over. Is my ass really that big? The sales girl told me that I had a little too much 'junk in the trunk' for a sheath gown."

"Puh-leeze!" Bianca holds a palm out. "That bitch could hula-hoop through a Cheerio! Plus she had an Adam's Apple for Christsakes and apparently she missed her weekly appointment with her aesthetician. Did you see the moustache on her? I could weave myself a nice throw rug with all that hair! Hell, a perfectly decent duvet cover even."

Breezy sighs heavily.

"You're drop dead gorgeous and you know it!" Bianca adds. "You don't see me wandering the streets of New York City with two hot men chasing after me. Mind you, one of them is a complete ass who needs me to either give him a swift kick in his balls or take a butter knife to his peter and give him that circumcision mommy balked on forty years ago…"

"And what about the other one?" Breezy inquires. "'Cause if you say anything bad about Donnie I swear I will come out there and beat the living shit out of you and mess your face up so bad even a rhinoplasty won't make your beak look right again!"

"Oh honey…I'd never utter a bad word about that fine example of the male species. That's a prime cut of beef we're talking about right there. That dark hair with those blue eyes! And the way he fills out those jeans? Shit girl. If you don't drop down on your back and spread 'em for him, I am all for taking your place."

I smirk at that. If I'd been in that dressing room under better circumstances, I probably would have both been flattered, and told Bianca to take a hike and sneak behind that curtain to show Breezy just what she'd been missing over the past three and a half years. But considering the fact that by being here, just a mere few feet from them, I could get arrested, well all the ego stroking in the world isn't going to improve my mood.

"He's all mine bitch!" Breezy declares. "There's no way I am letting him get away this time!"

"Well first you have to get rid of the troll," Bianca informs her. "You do that, and it's smooth sailing. Now you just keep trying on the dresses and I'll finish my talk here with Adrian and I'll…"

"Adrian? Is that the lawyer that looks like Matt Leblanc?"

"No, Squeaks. That is Nathan. Adrian is the accountant that looks exactly like Matthew Perry."

"Just two?" Breezy laughs. "Only brought your small catalogue with you today, did you?"

"Smart ass," Bianca grumbles, and turns back around in her seat to continue her phone call. "So where was I…?" she drawls into the phone.

"You were about to hang up on one boy toy and talk to another," I respond.

Her eyes are level with my belt buckle, and they travel ever so slowly up to my face. "Well fuck a duck!" she cries. "I'll have to call you back!" she says into the cell phone, and abruptly hangs up. "What in the hell are you…?"

"Me and you need to talk," I interject, and curling my fingers around her left bicep, haul her to her feet. "Now."

"Do you mind?" Bianca hisses. "You can't come in here and manhandle me like this! Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Now!" I repeat forcefully, and physically drag her out into the waiting area and onto the floor of the ritzy store.

"Let go of me you putz!" Bianca snaps, and yanks her arm out of my grasp. "Are you unhinged? What the hell is going on? I don't see or hear from you in three and a half years and you just show up out of the blue and order me around? Who do you think you are? The cops?"

I stare at her pointedly.

"Okay…so you are the cops…but that doesn't me you can be some goddamn neandrathal! You don't call, you don't come around…"

"Why in the hell would I call you, Bianca? Why the fuck would I come around to visit?"

"I don't mean me you moron! I mean Bree-Anne! You haven't bothered with her in three and a half years and all of a sudden you just show up at her house? Just like that? You suddenly pull your head out of your ass and decide that she's the one you want to be with after all? And you expect her to just fall all over you like nothing ever happened?"

"I don't expect anything," I argue. "And don't act like I'm the only one that messed things up around here. She kept my son away from me for two and a half years, Bianca! And don't even stand there and try and tell me that you haven't known the truth all this time. That you didn't know right when he was born that he was mine! You never thought about calling me and telling me?"

"It wasn't my place to tell you! It was up to Bree-Anne! She had her reasons for doing what she did and I'll back her up a hundred percent. She's my best friend! I love her like a sister and that little boy like a nephew! And you destroyed her! So don't you dare try to paint her in a bad light!"

"I would never do that," I hold my hands up in surrender. "I love her. I've always loved her."

"And you show her that by bailing on her! By breaking her heart! You're a goddamn sorry assed pussy is what you are."

"That's funny," I smirk. "Considering you told her back there that I was a, what were the exact words you used? A fine example of the male species? A prime cut of beef?"

"I meant in looks you ass!" Bianca spits. "'Cause you've got the personality of a fucking gutter rat!"

"I am not here to toss insults back and forth with you!" I angrily inform her. "I'm here to see Breezy. I need to talk to her and you almost screwed that up by refusing to cough up her cell number to the cops!"

"I had good reason to!"

"What good reason? Because you don't want her to be happy? You don't want Collin to have his real daddy in his life? You'd rather she stay with that douche bag? Someone that doesn't respect her or her son? My son?!"

"I couldn't give the number out because Bree-Anne left her cell phone at my place," Bianca explains. "She came by and we left Collin and my kids with their nanny and we came shopping. She didn't realize that she'd left her phone behind. And Phil…well I don't know how he managed it…but he's got it so that all unanswered calls get forwarded to his number! I didn't want you to call there and have it go to him."

I sigh heavily and shake my head.

"He's horrible, Don," Bianca's voice softens. "He's a nasty piece of work and I can't stand him. The way that he treats her…" she shudders.

"Has he ever hit her, B?" I ask. "And tell me the truth..."

"Not that I know of," she replies. "I've never seen her with bruises. Ever. And I'd know if something like that was going on. I'd see it and I know she wouldn't hide that from me. But I know tha way he talks to her is terrible. He treats her like a little girl and I can't stand it. She's a grown woman. A beautiful, intelligent, feisty grown woman that deserves to be treated like a goddess. Not like…not like that."

I nod in agreement, then cast a glance towards the changing area. "He filed a restraining order against me," I say, looking back at Bianca.

"What?" she exclaims. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious. I got served while I was at work. And he was spewing all this bullshit about how I'm emotionally fragile and unstable and that I'm suffering from posttraumatic stress disorder. That I'm a threat to Breezy and Collin."

"That's bullshit," Bianca huffs. "He's jealous. Plain and simple. You've come back into her life and he knows that she's still in love with you."

"Is she?" I ask. "Still in love with me?"

"Do bears shit in the words?" Bianca snorts. "Of course she is! Did you honestly think she'd just stop loving you?"

"After what I did to her? Yeah…"

"Things were screwed up, Don! Her husband had murdered someone! There was some heavy-duty shit going on and it did a number on both of you. It happens. But she's never, ever stopped loving you. And she was never going to stop loving you. I'm just glad…" she sighs. "Well I'm just glad one of you got your head out of your ass and came crawling back."

"Don't be bullshitting me, B. If she's not in love with me, don't be telling me she is to spare my ego."

"Do I need to smack you?" she asks. "Gibbs style? That girl is fool crazy about you! Just like you are about her! But Jesus, Don. Don't push her. Don't expect too much too soon. She's still a little vulnerable and she needs you to be…well she needs you to be everything you ever promised her you would be."

"I can be whatever she needs me to be," I declare confidentally. "I can be whatever…"

"Bianca?" Breezy's voice cuts me off, and I glance towards the entrance to the changing areas, my eyes widening and my heart nearly ceasing to operate when I see her standing there. Her wavy red hair tumbling down her back and over her creamy, smooth shoulders, her hands holding a slinky, floor length, metallic silver dress to her willowy body. One clasping the material to her chest, the other holding it closed at the side. I'm pretty sure she's got panties of some kind on underneath, but that dress is strapless and she's long ago taking her bra off to try garments on. And I get a sneak peek of a sliver of the tattoo under her right breast.

"Donnie?!" she gives a tiny shriek, a mixture between shock and happiness. "What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk Breezy," I reply, valiantly fighting off the urge to kiss her sensless right there and then.

"Okay…right now? In the middle of Saks Fifth Avenue?"

"Right now," I confirm, and laying a hand on the small of her back, gently lead her back towards the changing area.

"What's going on?" she asks, as she hastily yanks the zipper on the side of the dress up. "Fucking thing…" she mutters, when it stops halfway. "I can't…"

"Don't worry about that," I tell her, and escort her towards the rear exit that lies just beyond the dressing rooms and through a small stock room. When I was a uniform, I'd busted many a shoplifter in Saks, and I always led them out through the back door and into the alleyway behind the store.

"Don't worry about it!" she gives a laugh. "If it falls down I'll be naked!"

"You've got underwear on, don't you?"

"No," she informs me, and I nearly self-combust right there. "But that's beside the point…"

"Excuse me, sir!" a security guard - a high end one in a well tailored charcoal suit, crisp white shirt and pink and grey striped tie- steps out from the loss prevention office near the exit and hurries towards us, his jacket flapping and giving me a clear view of the holster and gun on his left hip. "What do you think you're doing?"

"NYPD," I tell him, and nod down at my badge.

"Shoplifter?" he asks.

"Just conducting some business," I reply. "I just need to talk to this young lady for a second…"

"About?" he presses.

"Personal business," I answer. "Don't worry. I'll get your thousand dollar dress back to you in about ten minutes."

"Three thousand," Breezy corrects me, then gives a tiny, adorable pout when I stare down at her incredulously. "I'm just saying…" she says sheepishly.

"Give me your coat," I order the guard, when I notice she's still attempting to hold the dress up.

"My coat?" he asks, perplexed.

"Yeah…your coat…" I respond, and motion for him to hand it to me. "I don't really want to have to haul her in for public nudity, so if you don't mind…"

He sighs, then reluctantly shrugs out of his suit jacket and hands it to me.

Taking the item of clothing held out to me, I step behind Breezy and help her slip into it. My fingertips graze the entire length of her arms; from wrist to shoulder. Her skin is soft and supple, and I've long ago committed every inch of her to memory. I know how she feels, how she tastes; I'm desperate to rediscover her. Desire rushes through me as she leans back against me and subtly presses her ass against my groin, and I fight off the urge to push the loose tendrils of hair away from the back of her neck in order to suckle and nip at her sensitive flesh.

"You good?" I ask, my hands perched on her shoulders.

She nods, then gives me a shaky smile over her shoulder.

"Ten minutes!" the guard calls to us, as I take my place alongside of Breezy once again, I capture her hand in mine and lead the way towards the exit.

"Don't worry," I tell him, as I use my free hand to push the door open; flooding the dull back area with brilliant sunshine. "You'll have the dress and your jacket back in one piece!"

Letting go of Breezy's hand, I motion for herto step outside first, and she reaches behind her to grab a hold of the front of my t-shirt as her barefeet make contact with cold cement.

"Donnie, what's wrong?" she asks, as the door slams shut behind us and she releases her grip on me. "Why are you here? Why are you…?"

At this point, I answer her the only way I can. The only way that my heart and my raging hormones will allow me to. I turn, and laying one hand on the back of her neck and the other on her left hip, I yank her roughly into me.

And then I cover her lips with mine in a long, searing kiss.

* * *

**_Crap ending, I know...but blame the muse..._**

**Massive thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and just lurking! I appreciate all of the support and love all of you!**

**Huge thanks to:**

**CSINYMinute**

**Afrozenheart412**

**ParaCaerOuVoar**

**Andorian Ice Princess - AIP**

**xSamiliciousx**

**wolfeylady**

**monoxidelullaby**

**Forest Angel**

**Heart2handgun**

**BlueEyedAuthor**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Dreamer Child 88**

**x3sunnydaay**

**You Can't Rush Science**


	12. It's Your Love

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS**

* * *

**It's Your Love**

"Better than I was, more than I am  
And all of this happen by taking your hand  
And who I am now is who I wanted to be  
And now that we're together  
I'm stronger than ever, I'm happy and free

Oh it's a beautiful thing, don't think I can keep it all in  
If you asked me why I've changed, all I gotta do is say your sweet name  
It's your love it just does something to me it sends a shock right through me  
I can't get enough and if you wonder about the spell I'm under,  
It's your love  
If you wonder about the spell I'm under,  
Oh, It's your love."  
-It's Your Love, Tim McGraw

* * *

_**Breezy's POV**_

The kiss is everything I've been longing for and dreaming about for the past three and a half years.

All those lonely nights spent wallowing in self-pity and torturing myself with the vivid memories of a passion and a love that I'd had the fortune of experiencing twice at the hands of the same man, have culminated into this very moment. While his lips are aggressive and demanding against mine, they're moist and warm in texture and bear a welcome familiarity. One that I've been desperate and hungry for. I wince slightly as his long fingers dig into the sensitive flesh of my hip and apply gently pressure to the back of my neck; effectively keeping me pressed tight against him. A startled gasp erupts from me as I feel Donnie's heavy, strong body stumble forward slightly, the momentum causing me to careen backwards; the small of my back making contact with cold, rough bricks. Up until that moment, my arms had been slack at my side and my own lips unresponsive as my brain and body had fought to process the onslaught of conflicting emotions.

A part of me is screaming at me to push him away. That this is all too much, too soon; that he can't just wander back into my life after all these years and expect me to be at his beck and call. That he can't expect me to just throw myself at his feet and pledge my undying, faithful love to him. It's the stubborn, catty bitch side of me that wants to hold a grudge and be bitter that he'd hurt me so horrifically. And it's immersed in a valiant struggle with the vulnerable, damsel in distress persona that so rarely decides to come out and play. My heart knows what it wants. What it's always wanted. And it wants me just close my eyes, hold me breath and jump right into the deep end of this pool of lust, passion and love. To just say to hell with it and take a chance. I want him. In ways that far surpass the sexual. I want him as a best friend, a confidant, a lover. An always and forever. This isn't some random guy off of the street. This is someone that I have spent more than half of my life being wildly and desperately in love with. The one man whose succeeded in making me feel safe and protected. Who can cause me to rant, rave, lash out in rage one minute, and then transform me into a quivering, begging and pleading mess the next.

The bricks pressing into my back through the security guard's jacket and the garbage that snaps and crinkles under my bare feet reminds me of where we are, and I break out of the kiss and glance to the left, then to the right. Surveying the alley in both directions. Quiet and desolate, a slight breeze sends discarded newspaper pages skittering across the cement and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and Chinese food -from the restaurant whose back door we stand a mere fifty yards from- linger on the humid, summer air. I can faintly hear a radio playing; Salsa music that is accompanied by the sound of the bristles on a corn broom scraping against the metal of a fire escape. And in the distance is the unmistakable underscore of life in Manhatta. Tires roaring across pavement, horns honking impatiently, and drivers screaming profanities at the bike couriers that weave in and out of traffic.

Yet all that exists or matters at this moment are the sounds of our hearts hammering in our chests and our ragged breathing. Donnie's scent assails me. A mixture of perspiration, a faint hint of cigarette smoke and men's cologne. My knees are weak and my stomach is fluttering out of control as I feel the delicious heat of his body against mine. He's much bigger than the last time we'd been in such a close, almost provocative proximity to each other. His shoulders are wider, his chest more broad, and the t-shirt he's wearing is tight around his powerful, muscular biceps. I'd never thought in a million years that he could ever be sexier then he was nearly four years ago. Or even as a teenager. But here is the living and breathing proof that some things do get better with age. And as I turn to face him, our lips dangerously close to touching and our breath wafting over each other's faces, my brown eyes lock on brilliant blue. My hands, acting on their own accord, reach up and come to rest on his shoulders. And as his eyes slowly travel over my face and linger on lips, my fingertips travel the length of his arms. Revelling in the smoothness of his skin and the firmness of his muscles, pausing to toy with the sleeves of his t-shirt before slipping over the insides of his elbows and along his forearms.

"Breezy…" his voice is low and throat, and his eyes never once leave mine. "We need to…"

I grab a hold of the front of his shirt; both hands fisting in the fabric, and I yank him against me and into another passionate kiss. And this time it's my lips that are devouring his, my tongue that is pressing against his lips and greedily and hungrily plunging into the warm, moist confines of his mouth. I'm staking my claim right there in that alley. After years of both anger and longing, I'm taking back what I feel is rightfully mine.

A grin curves my lips as I'm quickly and effortlessly stripped of the control I'd managed to attain, and Donnie's body once again pushes me backwards and he holds me in place by laying the palms of his hands against the bricks just above my shoulders. This moment between us is painfully and beautifully erotic. Re-discovery taking place in the broad daylight within view of the general public, we're losing ourselves in a sea of memories and in the promise of what might lay ahead of us. And the chance of being spotted and the reconnecting after so long is what has made this so thrilling.

"You never did like to hand over the power," I tease, when Donnie finally pulls away. Leaving us both breathless and the aching inside of me nearly unbearable. I've never wanted someone so badly in my entire life, and I've never felt so wanted in return.

"And you never got tired of trying to take it away from me," he retorts, then gives me that dimply grin before dropping his head to a kiss the side of my neck and removing his hands from the door in order to circle my waist with his arms.

His forehead comes to rest on my shoulder, and relinquishing my hold on his shirt, I curl my own arms around his neck and close my eyes. I'm completely lost in this moment, in him, and the fingertips of one hand softly scrape against the back of his head, where hairline meets skin. There are so many words on the tip of my tongue. Things that I've been longing to say for the past three and a half years. I'm desperate to tell him exactly how I'm feeling, worried that the moment that I open my eyes or he steps away that this passion and magic will evaporate.

"Breezy…" his deep voice and the kisses that he's placing against the side of my neck cause me to shudder. "We need to…"

"I missed you," I whisper, tears threatening behind my closed lids. "I missed you so much, Donnie. I prayed and I prayed that you'd come for me. I dreamed about this moment over and over again and I never thought…I never thought that it would come. That I'd ever feel this way again. That I'd never feel _you _again. And now…"

"I'm here," he assures me, and tightens his arms around my waist. "I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere this time."

"I don't want to get hurt," I say, as I allow the tears to slowly drip down my face and onto his shirt. "You hurt me so bad and I don't want to feel that way again. And Collin doesn't deserve to…"

Donnie places a kiss to the side of my neck and then releasing his hold on me, backs away slightly and gently takes my face in his hands. "No more hurt," he promises, and pecks my lips softly. "Never again, Breezy. This is it for us. Just this last chance. That's all I want. One last chance to make things right. For us to be a family. I just need you to give me a chance."

I bite my bottom lips and my eyes search his as he clears the tears off of my cheeks with his thumbs. I want so badly to believe that words that flow so smoothly and easily out of his mouth. I want to believe that we can escape our past and focus solely on our future. That he can love me for better or worse, through thick and thin.

"All I need is one more chance," Donnie repeats, then places a tender kiss on one corner of my mouth, then the other.

"I love you," I blurt out. "I love you so much and I…I did something horrible. Something that might make you want to reconsider what you're saying to me."

"Nothing could ever make me reconsider," he says. "Nothing could ever stop me from loving you and wanting you. We talked about Collin. About why you kept him from me and yeah, it hurts. It hurts a lot. But things were so screwed up, Breezy. They were screwed up and frightening and you wanted to protect him. And me. I get that. I understand. You're not a bad person because you wanted to keep your son, _our_ son, safe."

I shake my head. "It's not that, Donnie. It's not Collin. This is nothing to do with him and everything…" I sigh heavily. "…and everything to do with you."

"Breezy, what are you…?"

"Phil heard," I tell him. "He heard everything. Our phone call last night…he heard the entire thing, Donnie. He heard you tell me about still being in love with me. About how sorry you were for hurting me. And he heard you tell me about shooting Jess' killer."

Donnie's eyes narrow as he recoils as if he's been physically struck, and terror immediately grasps a hold of my heart.

"I'm sorry!" I cry, and grab a hold of his left forearm, "I didn't mean for it to happen! I didn't mean for him to hear! I didn't know that he was listening on the other end! I didn't mean for this to happen. I'm sorry!"

"He told you that he heard?"

I nod. "This morning. This morning he was being really, really sweet and nice and if you know anything about Phil you know that he's never sweet or nice. To anyone. Let alone Collin and me. And then he grabbed me by the hair and he told me that next time I should use my cell phone if I don't want people listening to my conversation and that I…"

"He grabbed you by the hair?" Donnie seems more upset about that than he does about his secret getting out.

"And by the neck," I admit. "Because he wanted to scare me into never seeing or talking to you again. He wanted me to know that he's got a lot of dirty laundry he can hold over both of our heads and he told me that if I knew what was best for myself and for you and for Collin I would do exactly what he says. And that if I didn't want to loose my baby…"

"He threatened you with that?" Donnie asks incredulously. "He actually threatened you with taking Collin away from you?"

"I can't lose him," I say. "I can't lose my baby. _Our_ baby. And he knows that that is the only thing in this world that he can use against me. That it would kill me to ever lose Collin. He's my everything, the only amazing and wonderful thing that came out of the Godforsaken mess that Dean caused us! And if I was to lose him…"

Donnie reaches out and lays a hand on the back of my neck. "You're not going to lose him," he promises.

"He told me that child protective services wouldn't like the idea that Collin's birth father that is suddenly back in the picture is a cold blooded murderer. And I don't see you that way, Donnie. I don't judge you for doing what you did. I don't know what I would have done if I'd been in that same situation, but you'd just lost Jess and you'd gotten a hold of her killer and you were hurting and grieving and you wanted to right a wrong and I don't envy you for being in that position. Or for making the decision you did or how you've suffered because of it. You know that, right? That I don't think that way about you?"

He nods and presses his lips against my forehead.

"I could never think that way about you," I tell him, and lay my hand on his forearm. "I know what kind of person you are. I know what kind of heart you have. And you're not what he says you are. Or what you _think_ you are."

"It's okay, Breezy," he whispers. "Just calm down. Everything's going to be okay."

"I can't lose Collin," I declare. "I can't. He's my son and if he was ever taken away…"

"Listen to me…" Donnie places his free hand on the side of my face and forces me to look at him. "You are not going to lose Collin. No one is going to take him away from you. Phil has nothing on you. You're a great mommy. You've been taking care of Collin on your own since he was born. Hell, since you were pregnant with him. And you've done an amazing job. He's beautiful, he's healthy, and he's crazy smart. Phil has no grounds to take Collin away from you. He's just a vicious, life-sucking prick who can't handle the fact that I'm back in your life. And he thinks that he can use threats to keep you.."

"He can't keep me," I say. "And I don't want to be with him. But I'm scared, Donnie. I'm scared that if I try and break away from him…"

"He won't hurt you, Breezy. You or Collin. And if he ever did, I'd…"

"Please don't finish that sentence," I plead. "I know what you're going to say. Please don't say it."

Donnie nods in understanding and kisses me tenderly. "He won't take Collin away from you, okay? And him knowing about me shootin' Jessie's killer…" he sighs heavily and places his lips against my forehead. "I don't want you to worry about that. It wasn't your fault."

"He said that if you didn't stay away from me and if I didn't listen to him that he'd tell someone. And not someone in the NYPD, either. Someone…_bad_."

"He's all talk," Donnie declares. "He thinks he's big and bad. That you'll bow to him if he intimidates and scares you. Don't let him do that. Don't let him win. If he tells someone, even someone in the department…well I'll cross that bridge when and if I get to it, alright?"

"I'm sorry," I shake my head miserably. "I never meant for this to happen."

"It is not your fault," he repeats, punctuating each words with pecks to my lips. "And it's not for you to worry about, okay?"

I give a nervous smile and nod.

"I guess this is the perfect time to tell you what I'm actually doing here," Donnie says.

"You mean there's actually a reason?" I ask, a grin tugging at the corner of my lips, as I lay my hands on his sides. "You didn't come here to be my knight in shining armour? Or to play cops and robbers?"

Donnie gives a chuckle. "As much as I want to be the former and as much as I want to do the latter, there is a reason why I'm here. A huge reason, exactly."

"That doesn't sound good," I frown. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

"Phil filed a restraining order against me," he tells me, and I feel my stomach lurch and then twist into knots and my heart begin to pound furiously in my chest. "Supposedly I have to stay a hundred yards away from you at all times," Donnie continues, and then glances down at the mere inches between us and gives that famous grin of his in an attempt to inject a little humour into the situation. "And considering what's been going on in this alley, I think it's save to say I've broken the law a few times."

"I can't believe that sonofabitch!" I huff, and raking both of my hands through my hair, fight the urge to unleash a blood-curdling scream in frustration. "Why in the hell would he do something like this?" I mutter, and covering my face with my hands, groan loudly.

"Because the only way he know how to play is dirty," Donnie reasons, and peels my hands away from my face.

"Are you in a lot of trouble?" I ask.

"I'll be riding the desk for a while," he replies. "I had to surrender my gun. Because my fragile emotional state and PTSD makes me a threat to you and Collin."

"That's bullshit, Donnie! I trust you with my life. With our son's life. Is there something I can do? Talk to your superior officer? Write a letter to someone? Call your union or…"

"You're the only one that can get me out this, Breezy. And the only way do that is through a lawyer."

"Then that's what I'll do!" I cry. "I'll call the lawyer that handled my divorce. I'm sure he can send me to the right person. Or maybe he can even do it himself. Whatever it takes, Donnie. I'll do anything for you. You know that."

He reaches up to brush hair out of my face and then tucking it behind my ears, cradles my face gently in his hands. "You have to get away from him, Breezy. I don't care if you want to be with me, but don't be with him. Just walk away. You have do it for yourself. And for Collin."

I nod, then turn my face up and into a soft, languid kiss. "How'd you even know where I was?" I ask, smiling as the pads of his thumbs graze lightly across the tops of my cheeks. I've missed these little moments the most; his feathery touches and the emotions that are laid bear in those incredible blue eyes. The quiet gazes we'd shared and our ability to shut out the entire world. Most of all, I've missed the touch of his skin against mine, and I revel in the moment and bring my hands up to cover his; my fingertips trailing the length of each of his fingers and down to his wrists and then back up again.

"Secretary at the precinct told me that you'd said you were in the neighbourhood and I knew that you and Bianca were still really tight so I took the chance that you were with her. Or that she'd at least cough up your cell phone number. What's this about the douche bag having all your unanswered calls forwarded to his number?"

I sigh and biting my bottom lip nervously, look away from the intense blue eyes burrowing into my very soul. "It's a long story," I say. "Phil's just a little…"

"Possessive? Controlling?" Donnie tosses out.

"Jealous," I gently correct. "He's very jealous and when he feels threatened about something…"

"He gets possessive and controlling," Donnie finishes, and trailing his hands lightly down the side of my face, presses his thumbs into the underside of my chin and turns my face towards him. "Breezy…why are you even with this guy?"

"He wasn't always a complete tool," I say, feeling defensive. "There _was _a time when he was sweet and charming. And I guess when he decided he was done making a good impression…"

"He'd turn into a total ass?"

I nod. "I was lonely, Donnie. And I know that that isn't an excuse for staying with someone that treats you like shit, nor is it a valid reason for getting involved with someone in the first place. But I was lonely and I was starting to think I was going to be alone forever. I mean, what decent guy wants someone with a kid?"

"I do," he tells me. "Mind you, I guess that's makes sense that I would, considering I'm the whole reason you have the kid in the first place…"

I smile and playfully scrap my nails down the tops of his hands. "You had a somewhat small role in it," I say, then I laugh as he slips his hands around to the back of my neck and pulling me against him, covers my mouth in a kiss.

I can't get enough of him. I've never been able to. The way that he holds me as if I'm a precious, fragile piece of china that he's afraid to crack, the softness in his kisses and caresses one moment and the aggression and intensity in them the next. He'd always known exactly what I needed, and wanted. Four years of practice as teens had definitely paid off, and had given him a good learning platform to carry with him into adulthood.

"A small part, huh?" he chuckles, and with a hand on the nape of my neck and an another on the small of my back, holds me tightly against him. "That was one thing you never used to complain about. The smallness of my parts."

I laugh into his chest and wrap my arms around his waist.

"Everything's going to be okay," he whispers into my hair. "I promise you that everything's going to be okay."

I nod, then pull back slightly to smile up at him. "I can't believe that you came for me," I say. "Knowing that you could get in all kinds of trouble for it."

"I made the mistake of not coming for you once, Breezy. I'm not going to do it again. You know…" he glances down between us. "I guess it's a good thing that Bianca wouldn't give me your cell number. If I hadn't have come here, I would have never seen you in that dress."

"It's not one of the better ones," I sigh. "I hate it."

"I think it's totally hot," Donnie declares. "But three grand? For real?"

"And that's on sale," I say with a roll of my eyes. "It's for this ridiculous mayor's benefit thing that Phil managed to weasel his way into on Saturday night. We were just supposed to be going out for dinner and drinks, and then he phones an hour ago and tells me about this formal party. I don't fit in at those things. I'd only to stick out like a sore thumb."

"Who you kidding? You'd be the hottest woman there. Hands down."

"Well, you're prejudiced," I say, and hook my index fingers in belt loops at the back of his jeans. "At least now I can cancel and…"

"Exactly, I don't want you to cancel," Donnie tells me. "I still want you to go."

I frown. "But why? I thought you wanted me to…"

"Get away from Phil," he finishes for me. "I do. I just…I think I've got a little plan on how to deal with this guy. There a lot of people going to this thing?"

"Apparently it's a huge deal. Lots of high society people. Why?"

"Well, I just happen to have a tuxedo that's collecting a whole lot of dust in the back of my closet and I know someone that wouldn't mind crashing a party with me. I can walk in there, do my best James Bond impersonation and sweep you right off your feet."

"Mmm…" I trail the tip of my tongue along my bottom lip. "I just happen to find spies so incredibly sexy."

"Really?" he grins down at me. "In that case we should just go back to my place now and play dress up. You can pick out whatever dress you like the best and we'll go back to my apartment, I'll put on my tux. Sound good?"

"I'd attack you and have that tux off in about five seconds," I laugh. Then turn serious once again. "Are you sure about this? About this whole benefit thing?"

"I'm sure nothing would bug Phil's ass more than a little public humiliation. I can play dirty, too. He's fucked with the wrong person. And I think it's time he learned his lesson. Don't you?"

I nod.

"But don't worry about any of that. All you have to do is pretend that I was never here. That I never told you about the restraining order. You just go and call your lawyer and keep everything on the down low. Fly under the radar with Phil. Do everything that he says, alright? Within reason. Don't let on that you know anything about the order or let him know that you've seen me. Just keep quiet and things will work out. Do you trust me?"

"With my life," I declare. "But what about Collin?" I ask. "When are we going to talk about him? We were supposed to talk about it tomorrow and now we can't do that because of…"

Donnie silences me with a kiss. "We've got lots of time to talk," he assures me. "Let's just deal with one thing at a time, alright?"

"Alright…" I reluctantly agree. "I'm scared, Donnie," I admit.

"There's nothing to be scared about," he presses his lips against my forehead. "If he does anything to you, and I mean anything, you call me immediately and I'll come and get you and Collin right away. Don't hesitate. You call and I'll be there. I won't let him hurt you, Breezy."

"I missed hearing you call me that," I smile.

"I missed calling you that," he says, then kisses me once again. Even the smallest amounts of intimate contact with him cause my heart to race and my stomach to flutter, and despite the fact that were in a garbage strewn alley in the middle of the day and I'm wearing a dress I've essentially stolen from Saks Fifth Avenue, I actually wish that we could stay out here all day. It's our own piece of paradise amongst the madness of New York City. Our own personal sanctuary.

"I should get you back inside," Donnie says, after he's broken out of the kiss and I lay my head on his chest, eyes still closed.

"I don't want to go back in there," I sigh.

"I know you don't want to. But I was actually talking to the dress."

"Nice!" I laugh and pull away from him. "Glad to know you're more concerned about that then me."

"It's a three thousand dollar dress!" Donnie exclaims. "I can't afford to pay for that if we're not back in there in the time limit that Rent-A-Cop's given us."

"You don't have to pay for it," I say. "The gold card tucked in my purse will take care of everything. It would also take care of a nice little trip to Cabo. For two."

He chuckles at that. "As much as I'd give anything to run away with you right now, I think we should just stick to our game plan."

"Party pooper," I give a dramatic pout. "There's something so thrilling and sexy about the idea of skipping town," I add, as Donnie takes my hand and leads me towards the back door of Saks. "And you know what? I think I'm going to have to buy this dress _and_ one I like."

"Why's that?" he asks.

"Because I've kind of…_ruined_ this one."

He stares down at me, perplexed.

"Well you know that thing you do with your tongue?" I ask. "You know, the thing that's always drove me crazy? When you run the tip of it against the roof of my mouth?"

He nods.

"Well I may have let a wet spot on the back of this dress," I tell him. Then giggle and lay a hand over my face in embarrassment.

"Means I've still got the touch," he declares, a cocky smirk on his face as he reaches out to rap his knuckles against the metal door. "I can still make you wet by doing hardly anything."

I shudder. "Okay…hearing you talk like that just made things worse," I say from between my fingers.

Donnie laughs and shakes his head. "You're something else, Breezy," he declares.

"Something sure keeps you coming back for more," I say. "Something holds you back from forgetting me."

I notice he doesn't have a comeback for that,

* * *

"It's about freaking time!" Bianca exclaims, as Donnie and I, hand in hand, return to the dressing area. She's standing in the middle of the room, a hand planted firmly on her hip as she practically wears a hole in the floor by tapping the heel of her Manolo Blanik's violently against the plush cream carpeting. "I thought the two of you might have made a run for the border! I was going to send the search party! Or least send a postcard reminding you to ship me some tequila. And a phone number for some hot young thing that likes to go south. If you know what I mean…"

She nudges Donnie with her elbow and gives that wild cackle of hers.

"Easy Janice," he teases. "There's people still sleeping on the other side of the world."

"You still have a shit sense of humour!" she declares, and slaps his shoulder. "So? What's the four one one? What the hell is going on? You two back together or what?"

"We're a work in progess," Donnie tells her, then helps me slip out of the security guard's jacket.

"So you'll be knocking boots in forty eight hours as opposed to twenty four or less," she laughs. "Like the two of you can stay away from each other!" she snorts, when she notices me roll my eyes. "I swear you both got some catnip of something else sprayed all over ya that no one else can smell but the two of you. It's like you come within five miles of each other and BEEP!" she holds her hands at the sides of her head and extends her middle fingers, mimicking attenas. "The feelers come out and the two of you are sucked together! Unless Squeaks is just like a Venus Fly Trap and…"

"It's the pheramones," I say.

"Well whatever the hell it is, hand me some would ya? Like a whole freaking case. 'Cause I want some hot cop coming to rescue me. Asserting his authority over me and putting that nightstick and cuffs to good use. Excuse me, officer…" she drawls in a seductive voice. "But I have been a very, very, very naughty girl. Would you like me to assume the position?"

Donnie blushes furiously.

"You watch way too much porn with guys pretending to be cops in them," I declare.

"No…I'm just indulging in some wishful thinking. You have any single friends, Don? Some hot young thing that wouldn't mind tackling a cougar?"

He shakes his head and gives her an apologetic look.

"Damnit," Bianca pouts. "Oh well…I've always believed in trying anything once. I'll just join in on your fun some time. You know what I'm saying…" she elbows Donnie again and gives that cackle once more.

"You've got issues," he informs her.

"I'm just a horny old broad!" she exclaims. "Now…onto more serious matters," she glances around the dressing room and then lowers her voice. "I called my lawyer. He's a ruthless bastard and a first class asshole, but he brought me the goods when I divorced the last husband. And he told me that he can take care of your little problem. Get that restraining order tossed out."

"I can't afford your lawyer," I whisper back.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head about anything," Bianca reaches out to pat my cheek softly. "Consider it an early Christmas present. Now you hurry up and get in there and find something you like so we can get the hell out of here, would ya? I'll even buy you one of them funnel cakes you're dying for. But don't you dare come bitching to me when it goes to your ass! And you!" she slaps her hand against Donnie's chest. "You've got some chutzpah showing up here considering you could be tossed in the clink. About goddamn time you did something to show this young lady how crazy about her you really are."

Donnie smiles at me. "I should go," he says. "I've already taken a big enough chance being here."

"Don't worry, sweets," Bianca stands on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. "I've got the green to bail those pretty blue eyes out."

"So Saturday?" I ask, nervously and hopefully. "Nine o'clock? Grand Ballroom at The Hilton."

Donnie nods, then lays a hand on the side of my face and kisses me softly.

Bianca gives a dreamy sigh.

"I'll be there," he promises, then presses his lips to my forehead before trailing a fingertip down the bridge of my nose and tapping the tip lightly.

I reach up and run the pad of my thumb over his lips. Then turn on my heel and hurry behind the curtain of the dressing room before I dissolve into tears.

"Young love," I hear Bianca say. "I'm getting all verklempt here."

I peer through the slit in the curtain and watch as Donnie hugs her tightly.

"Take care of her, B," he says, and lets her go.

"Always," she promises. "You know that if you hurt her again, they won't ever find your body."

"Well it's a good thing I don't plan on fucking up a third time," Donnie retorts, then gives a smile and heads out of the dressing area.

Sighing heavily, I close the curtain and sinking down onto the bench, put my face in my hands. My heart shattering as my entire life, my future, gets further and further away.

* * *

**Huge thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and even just lurking! I appreciate all of the support! The next chapter may take a bit, I've got some exciting RL stuff to attend to in the next couple of days!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Andorian Ice Princess- AIP**

**ParaCaerOuVoar**

**xSamiliciousx**

**X3sunnydaay**

**heart2handgun**

**Forest Angel**

**Blue Eyed Author**

**Soccer-bitch**

**wolfeylady**

**New-york-babeee**


	13. All You Did Was Save My Life

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS.**

**ANYONE ELSE DISGUSTINGLY EXCITED ABOUT TONIGHT?! ALTHOUGH SOME OF THE THINGS I'VE HEARD ABOUT SEASON SIX…I DON'T KNOW ABOUT CERTAIN THINGS….**

* * *

**All You Did Was Save My Life**

"You, looked at me as you walked in the room  
Like the red sea, you split me open  
Somehow I knew these wings were stolen  
All you did was save my life  
Tried to run but I couldn't move  
Well I paid for these concrete shoes  
Like a singer that sings the blues  
You saw hope in the hopeless  
I'm not dying  
All you did was save my life  
Pulled me out of that flat line  
Put the heartbeat back inside  
I'm not dying  
All you did was get me through, I owe every breathe to you  
Heart and soul unparalyzed, all you did was save my life."  
-All You Did Was Save My Life, Our Lady Peace

* * *

_**Breezy's POV**_

_"A__ll you did was save my life, pulled me out of that flat line. Put the heartbeat back inside, I'm not dying. All you did was get me through, I owe every breath to you, heart and soul un-paralyzed, all you did was save my life. I'm not for sale but I've been sold, the more I hear the less I know. The lies are swallowed whole, in their story's been told a million times, but it's different when it's your life. I won the lottery tonight, the lottery tonight."_

I sing quietly along to 'All You Did Was Save My Life' by Our Lady Peace, my current favourite song on CD of mixed music that I keep permanently in the stereo of my Pontiac G-8. I'm a self-admitted iTunes whore. Charging way too much on my credit card for songs that lose their novelty before my bill for the month even finds itself in the mailbox. I start off loving every tune in my extensive collection; until I have them on shuffle and only like one in every ten. I'm also the type of person that studies lyrics; that loves to discover both the obvious and the subtle meanings behind them. I tend to stick to songs that tell a story. That make me feel something. Which would be why the majority of my play list is filled with country tunes of love and loss, and rock music telling tales of lust, envy and revenge. Three weeks ago, I'd discovered the song I'm now listening to by sheer chance while flipping through television channels while folding laundry and happening upon the video playing on MTV. For some reason the words in the chorus had stuck with me; had brought back memories of the one man that I'd ever loved wholly and completely. Who, from the tender age of fourteen, had unknowingly saved my life. Teaching me that I was worthy of being loved, and feeling love for someone in return. That being a little different from everyone else was something to be celebrated, not feared and detested. Up until then I'd been the one completely shunned by other kids on the playground and in the classroom, laughed at because of my parents' often over-the-top beliefs and my father's extreme protectiveness. Donnie had come into my life when I'd needed someone the most.

Three times in fact. It was as if he knew exactly when I needed him. That something had told him that it was time to come back into my life and save me from my demons. And from myself.

I'd never realized the extent to which I'd missed Donnie until he'd kissed me in the alleyway behind Saks. Emotionally I've been miserable since my father rushed me out of the courthouse that day following my testimony. I'd been shell-shocked; the ambush the defence attorneys had launched had been swift and painful. And while the prosecution had told me to expect an attempt at character assassination, I'd been unprepared for the brutality in which I'd been attacked. Even now, I honestly don't know what had been more painful for me. Being thrown under the bus, or having my parents listen to all the dirty details of my 'illicit, secret life'. In no doubt it had been painful for them; listening to the their daughter's sex life laid out before the packed courtroom and recorded word for word by the members of the press in attendance. My father had taken it the hardest. I was, after all, his baby girl. His only girl. And he'd felt as if he'd somehow failed me in my upbringing. That somewhere along the line, he hadn't been strict enough and I'd gone astray. That he'd been too lax on me as a teenager. That instead of letting me have a boyfriend and allowing my mother to put me on birth control, he should have tightened the reigns and been harsher when it came to punishment. No child of his had been brought up to commit adultery, and he'd been disgusted by me for embarrassing in both publicly and in the eyes of God. And while he'd allowed me back into the family home, it wasn't out of fatherly love. It was so that he could keep me under virtual lock and key, and assert the authority and control he'd obviously failed at the first time around. He screened all calls and allowed me to see only a select handful of people. And when Collin had been born, my father had taken one look at the baby's black hair and blue eyes and had determined that the six pounds, eight ounce infant tucked protectively in my arms was the offspring of something despicable and evil. And had vowed to never fully accept Collin as his grandson.

Things have obviously changed remarkably since then. My dad and Collin are best buddies and do everything together. They head to the park down the street from our house and watch baseball and football games and soccer matches together. They cuddle under a blanket in the basement in grampie's favourite chair and indulge themselves in hockey or cartoons. Every weekend, they're up before everyone else in the house and having breakfast together and Collin will sit on grandpa's lap and listen intently as my father reads the comic section of the newspaper out loud. Fishing is their big thing in the summer, as well as dragging their sleeping bags out into the backyard and sleeping under the stars. In the winter, they're out in the front yard building snow forts and having snowball fights, then sipping hot chocolate while sitting in front of the fireplace in the basement.

My father's sentiments towards both Collin and me had changed three weeks before my son's first birthday. When he'd stumbled upon me at four in the morning, exhausted and bawling with my head in my hands at the kitchen table and a screaming Collin sitting next to me on the floor in his vibrating seat. He'd been going through what the doctor at the emergency room had called 'the worst case of the croup I've seen in the last twenty years' and I'd spent an entire three nights sleeping in the rocking chair beside his crib. Jolted awake by his incessant coughing spells and rushing him either outside into the cool night air, or into the bathroom where I'd turn the shower on or we'd sit in the steam. I'd just returned from a trip out on the back porch, where I'd stood shivering in my pyjamas with a sobbing Collin wrapped in blanket and cuddled close to my chest, and my dad had wandered upon the scene just as I thought I'd have myself a mental breakdown. I hadn't even known he was in the room until Collin had gone completely silent, and I'd looked up and through my teary eyes, saw my father pacing the kitchen floor with his grandson in his arms.

"Your brothers were sick with the croup constantly," he'd said in ways of an explanation. "You were always the healthy one. But those buggers…if there was something to catch, they were catching it and spreading it around."

"I can't do this daddy," I'd sobbed. "I just can't. I can't do this by myself."

He'd known, just as well as I had, that my words stretched far beyond my sentiments of taking care of a sick baby. I had never planned on being a single mother, never mind find myself immersed in a nasty divorce while my husband sat behind bars for murdering someone. It was all too surreal; too overwhelming. I was dangerously teetering on a very fragile edge, and the one person who could have saved me all along was so close, yet seemed so far. My dad had stepped up to the plate after that. He'd forgiven me for the mistakes that I'd made, and our relationship had slowly, yet surely, began to repair itself. Even if he'd massively pissed me off by insisting that I be re-baptized when Collin received his sacrament a week after his birthday. Dad had been convinced that I'd needed cleansed. That I needed God's acceptance if I'd ever wanted to be 'saved'.

I hadn't had the heart to tell him that the only person that could save me was somewhere out there, attempting to make the city a safer place to be. Carrying my heart with him each time he set foot on the mean, vicious streets.

I'd left Bianca's feeling energized. For the first time in three and a half years, I'd been optimistic about my personal life. That instead of putting too much stock into all the wrong people, something and someone good was finally taking over. Only know, as I sat in the bumper-to-bumper traffic on the Queensboro Bridge, my elbow resting on the ledge of my open window and my hand against my forehead, I'm terrified for what the next seventy hours have in store for me. On top of being furious for the hell that Phil is putting me through, I'm nervous about convincingly pulling off my charade. That he'll push all the wrong buttons and I'll snap and show my hand long before I'm ready to. I don't want anything ruining what I've finally managed to grab a hold of after so long, and that includes both Phil's idiocy and my own tendency to react badly to threatening situations.

All I know is that my head is pounding from dwelling to much on what could go wrong, instead of allowing myself to finally be happy and concentrate on all the things that are going right for a change. And with my right hand firmly on the steering wheel and my foot planted on the brake, I close my eyes briefly and massage at my temple with the index and middle finger tips on my left hand.

Saturday night cannot come soon enough.

A faint rustling from the backseat captures my attention, and opening my eyes, I cast a glance through the rear view mirror, watching as Collin, safely strapped in his car seat in the middle of the rear seat, slowly comes awake. It's an adorable, yet highly entertaining ritual to watch. The way his head snaps back and his eyes flutter open and he takes in his surroundings with a dreamy, dopey smile on his face. His eyes close and his chin falls to his chest, then he bolts awake once more and then blinks his eyes rapidly several times and scratches his nose with the back of his left hand repeatedly. Then he gives a loud yawn that ends with a high-pitched squeak, and he spreads both his arms and his legs as he stretches languorously. Save for the little noise at the end of his yawn, his waking pattern -in existence for the past year- is exactly the same as his father's. I'd recognized it immediately, and had been startled considering they'd never been in each other's company.

"Hi handsome," I greet cheerfully, as the fog of sleep lifts from his eyes and he turns his face away from the window to look at me. "Welcome back to the land of the living. Did you have a nice nap?"

He nods and gives me a soft smile. "I'm dirsty, mum-mum," he announces. "And my tummy is talking to me again."

"And what is it telling you?" I ask, as I unzip the Go Diego Go backpack sitting on the passenger seat. "Is it telling you that you've been a good boy all day?"

"No," Collin answers. "Not dat."

"Is it telling you that you had a lot of fun at Auntie Bee-Bee's with Mae and Deacon and Angie?" I try again, as I reach into the bag and rummage around for the plastic Backyardigan's tumbler that I'd packed full with a mixture of chocolate and white milk before I'd left Bianca's apartment. I check to make sure that the 'sippy' lid is firmly snapped in place, then I lean in between the front seats and hold the drink out to my son.

"Not dat either," he tells me, and accepts the drink. "Tank you, mum-mum. I loves you."

"I love you too, baby boy," I say, and reach out to smooth down his tousled black hair. "What is your tummy telling you?" I ask.

"I'm ungy," Collin replies.

"But you had a snack before we left Auntie Bee-Bee's house," I remind him.

"I know. But I'm still ungy."

I sigh heavily, the words 'You're just like your father' on the tip of my tongue as I stick my hand inside of the back once more and rummage around for the small plastic bowl of Cheerios that I'd tossed in there before we'd left our house after lunch. Finally retrieving the item I was looking for, I flick the lid off with my thumb and lean between the seats once again.

"You da best mum-mum ever," Collin declares, and takes the container of dried cereal.

I turn back around in my seat, both disgusted and slightly relieved that the traffic hasn't moved in inch in the last fifteen minutes. The longer I'm on the bridge, the longer I'm out of the house. Instead of walking on eggshells and waiting on baited breath for Phil's return from work, I'm in the safe confines of my car.

I hear a soft swishing noise as Collin takes a sip of his milk, the grin as he smacks his lips together and lets out a long, content sigh.

"Guess what, mum-mum?" he asks, breaking the silence between us.

"What?" I inquire.

"Donnie phoned me at Auntie Bee-Bee's house," Collin announces.

My eyes widen and I glance through the rear view mirror at my son as he happily uses his thumb and forefinger to pluck the small oat circles out of their container and pop them into his mouth. "He did?" I ask. "When did he call you?"

"When you and Auntie Bee-Bee were out shopping," Collin replies. "He calls and told me tanks for da card and dat he was going to come to our house to play as soon as his boss let him. And dat when da hockey starts, he's gonna take me to see da Rangers play da Penguins."

Putting two and two together, I'm able to come up with the timing of Donnie's call. He most likely placed the phone call to Collin sometime between the time he'd left Saks Fifth Avenue, and when Bianca and I finished our shopping excursion a half an hour later.

"Did he say anything else?" I ask curiously.

"Just dats he'll buy me a hotdog and popcorn at the hockey game," Collin answers. "Dat's it. I like hotdogs and popcorn, mum-mum."

"You like food period," I laugh.

"Donnie's nice," Collin declares. "He nice to me all da time. Not like Phil. He mean all da time and only nice a little bit. I wish dat Donnie would come and live with us and then he could play with me lots. Can Donnie come and live with us?"

"We live with grandma and grandpa," I remind my son.

"Can we get a house?" he asks hopefully. "Then Donnie can come live at our house. Can we?"

"We'll have to see about that," I reply. "Right now…well right now you and Donnie don't know each other that well and you need to get to know one another before we can even think about living with him. Would you like that? To get to know Donnie better?"

Collin nods. "Is he your boyfriend? If Donnie's your boyfriend does dat mean no more Phil?"

"Donnie and I are…" I struggle to find the right words. I'm not exactly sure what Donnie and I are at this point in time. And if I use his term of 'work in progress', that will only lead to more questions which in turn leaves me at a loss for suitable answers. "We're really good friends," I finally say.

"Oh…" Collin swigs his milk. "How comes Donnie has black hair and blue eyes like me?" he suddenly asks.

My eyes widen and I stare at my son through the rear view mirror. "Lots of people have black hair and blue eyes," I reply.

"And he likes hockey and popcorn and hotdogs," Collin adds.

"And lots of people like all of that stuff," I retort, suddenly feeling as if I'm being interrogated by a toddler.

"All da cool people," he concludes, and then happily returns to his drink and his snack.

Completely oblivious to the thousands of knots his innocent questions have agonizingly twisted inside of my stomach.

* * *

With Collin and Luna lounging in the middle of my bed while Blue's Clues plays on the television across the room, I find myself precariously perched on my tiptoes atop a step stool in the middle of my walk in closet. My parents had relinquished the master bedroom to me when they'd taken me in permanently following Dean's trial, and one of the perks of turfing them to a smaller boudoir was having not only a closet to nearly fit all of my belongings -including a rather extensive collection of cheap shoes, half of which I've never worn- and a en-suite bathroom. My father, the tallest male in my entire family at six foot six -he'd passed on his height to all of my brothers, not one of them falling below six three while I'd been blessed with my mother's rather tiny stature- had kindly taking it upon himself when I'd moved in to not only supply me with rubber maid totes and cardboard boxes to store my less frequently used items, but had neatly arranged everything on the top shelf in the closet.

Unfortunately, I'm not the Jolly Green giant, nor does my stubborn nature allow me to make the trek down to the basement to fetch the taller four-step ladder. Instead, I'm cursing my dad as I lay one hand on the metal bar that my clothes dangling from, and stretch as far as I possibly can to reach the one item I so desperately want. My feet have already slipped a half a dozen times, nearly sending me toppling off the stool, and my fingertips constantly brushed against the floral patterned memory box that remains just out of my reach.

The last time I'd been inside of that container was two and a half years ago, when I'd tucked both Collin's statement of life birth and the results of his DNA test inside. Now, my mind is swirling as I consider just how I'm not only going to break the news to my parents and Collin himself that Donnie is his real father, but how I'm legally going to get the father's name changed on the statement of live birth. I'd wrote down Dean's name out of a moment of sheer panic, then had taken it to his lawyer who'd then paid a visit to my incarcerated husband. Dean had singed the paper, legally claiming Collin as his, but he'd never once asked to see any pictures of him, nor had he attempted to make any calls to our house to talk to the little boy that bore his last name. I can't say that I blame him for turning a cold shoulder on us. Despite what he'd done to land himself in jail, the truth of the matter was that I had betrayed him. I had been carrying on an affair behind his back and I'd denied it to his face the several times he'd asked if I was seeing someone else. He was a monster in many ways; but I'd be one too with the way that I'd behaved.

"Mommy!" Collin calls from the bedroom. "Can we get another dog and call him Sprinkles?"

"Why Sprinkles?" I ask, as I utter a profanity under my breath as my fingers once again brush against the memory box.

"'Cause dat's Blue's little brother and I like da name," Collin informs me.

"Well I think for now, one dog is enough," I tell him, as bit my bottom lip and hoist myself up onto my tiptoes once again and stretch as humanly possibly. I latch onto the handle of the plastic tote below the item I actually want, and I tip it slowly towards me, allowing the memory box to slide along the lid and my hand to finally grab a hold of it.

"What are you doing Bree-Anne?" Phil's voice suddenly pipes up from the doorway of the closet, and I give a shriek in surprise, then loose my footing completely and fall backwards off the stool and into the wooden shelving unit my father had erected on one side of the closet.

"Do you freaking mind?!" I screech, clamouring into a sitting position and rubbing the back of my head that had smacked hard against the wood. "Why in the hell would you sneak up on me like that?"

"I only asked you what you were doing," Phil defends himself as he enters the closet. "I didn't mean to scare you…"

"You shouldn't have crept up on me like that!" I scold, and slap away the hand that he offers to me.

"You shouldn't have been doing something so stupid," he retorts. "You could have fallen and really hurt yourself!"

"Oh my heart bleeds out of the extensiveness of your sheer compassion," I snipe.

"Someone's had a rough day," he grumbles, then attempts to help me up once again. And the moment my fingers curl around his hand and he begins to lift me to his feet, I notice his gaze fall on the memory box; the lid off and its contents scattered across the carpet. Items that had meant so much to me in my past. Love letters that Donnie had written to me in high school, two ticket stubs from the Mets game that he'd taken me to for my seventeenth birthday. A receipt for two adult fares on the Staten Island ferry; we'd spent the entire day travelling back and forth, sprawled out on the benches on the lower deck, holding hands and staring up at the massive white clouds that inhabited the brilliant blue sky as we discussed our future together. Along with Collin's DNA test and birth statement, there's also newspaper clippings that I'd kept from the various high profile busts Donnie had been involved in, and the program that I'd been given when I'd attend Jessica Angell's memorial at the funeral home.

And last, but certainly not least, the charm bracelet that Donnie had bought me. He'd given it back after our brief break-up; the clasp that I'd snapped in two successfully repaired. And as I noticed the rage that quickly consumes Phil's eyes and darkens his face, I scramble to my knees and clamp a hand over the bracelet before he can get a hold of it.

"What the fuck is all of this, Bree-Anne!" he bellows, and brings the sole of his dress shoe down onto the top of my hand. I cry out in pain and tears immediately blur my vision; yet I refuse to give up possession of that bracelet. It's not expensive, yet it's irreplaceable in terms of sentimental value. I don't care about the agony that shoots through each of my fingers and into my wrist. All I care about is the cheap piece of sterling silver clasped tightly in my injured hand.

"Leave me alone!" I scream, and manage to yank my hand out from under his foot. "Just get out of here! Just fuck off and get out of here!"

"I thought I told you to let him go!" Phil bellows, and turns and slams the closet door shut. "I thought I told you to do exactly what I say! What is wrong with you? Are you a glutton for punishment, Bree-Anne? Do you like causing yourself pain? Why do you have to be so goddamn stupid?!"

"I know about the restraining order!" I yell, as I manage to pull myself up onto my knees. "I know that you went behind my back and issued one against Donnie! I know that you're a jealous prick and you can't stand the fact that I love him and not you!"

Phil's eyes narrow and he brings his foot up and placing it against my chest, shoves me back against the shelving unit once more. "He doesn't want you, Bree-Anne!"

"Yes he does!" I argue. "He does want me! It's why he came for me yesterday! It's why he came for me today to tell me about what an insane asshole you really are! And it's why he wants me to leave you so that he can take care of Collin and me! He does want us! He loves us!"

"If he wanted you he would have come for you a hell of a lot sooner! He's settling for you! He's settling for you 'cause his pig girlfriend was murdered and…"

"Don't call her that!" I scream, and direct a kick to his right thigh, hard enough to make him wince. "Don't ever talk about her like that!"

"I'm calling the cops," Phil informs me, and pulls his cell phone from the pocket of his suit jacket. "I'm calling them and having him arrested for violating that restraining order and to tell them what a crazy bitch you are so they can get someone to take Collin away from you!"

"The only crazy one is you!" I spit, and struggling to my feet, snatch his cell phone out of his hand and launch it up onto the top shelf. "You're a crazy bastard and I want you out of my life! I want you out of my life and out of my house and I want…"

His left shoots out and closes around my throat. His fingers dig into my sensitive flesh as he pushes me against the back of the closet door. "You're a worthless piece of shit!" he hisses, saliva spattering against my face. "You're a disgusting, useless, ungrateful little bitch!"

"And you're an insane prick!" I retort. "I didn't let Dean treat me like this. I don't let any man treat me like this! And if you don't…"

"Mommy?!" Collin screams from the other side of the door. "Are you o'tay mommy?"

"Tell him you're fine," Phil orders me.

I shake my head.

"Tell him you're fine," he repeats, and tightens the hold on my neck.

"Collin…" I manage despite the vice threatening to close off my airway. "Go and watch your show, baby."

"Leave my mommy alone!" my son cries, and slams his palms against the door and fights to draw breath in between his sobs. "Leave her alone!"

"You tell him to shut up or else he's going to be in for a world of hurt," Phil says.

"Please, Collin…" I plead, tears streaming down my face. "Just go and watch your show and…"

"I'm going to call da peas-man!" Collin announces, and I hear his tiny feet scrambling across the bedroom floor. Then the very distinct sound of him pressing buttons on the cordless phone.

My parents have been drilling the numbers 9-1-1 into his head since the day he'd picked up my dad's cell when he was eighteen months and decided to press random buttons. A placed call to somewhere in Austin, Texas had resulted in us putting any and every phone out of reaching distance. But I'd called Bianca when I'd gotten home and had left the cordless on my bed. And whether or not Collin is actually calling the police or if he's just pressing whatever numbers his little fingers fall on, I don't know. But I've heard stories about kids phoning the operator or even 911 when there's an emergency.

With the hand that's wrapped around my throat, Phil roughly tosses me aside and throws open the door.

"Don't!" I scream, one hand over my neck as I use the other to tuck the charm bracelet into my pocket, and hurry after him as he advances on my tiny son. "Don't touch him! Don't hurt him!"

Phil yanks the phone out of Collin's hand, disconnects the call, then wraps his arm around one of my son's arms and violently yanks him off his feet and tosses him on the bed.

"Leave him alone!" I bellow, and before my mind even can register what I'm doing, I bring my left leg up and direct a sharp kick between Phil's legs from behind, effectively catching him in the groin and causing him to roar in pain before he drops to his knees clutching his most prized possession.

"Mommeeee!" Collin sobs, tears streaming down his face.

"Come on!" I order him, and hold my arms out. "Hurry Collin…hurry Luna…"

My son scrambles up onto his knees and crawls across the bed as the puppy scampers across the rumbled sheets and jumps down and scurries towards the door. I ignore Phil as he utters profanities and threats at me, and I scoop Collin up into my arms and hurry for the exit, nearly knocking Luna clear across the room when I yank it open.

"Come Luna!" I yell, and point towards the hallway, and the puppy recuperates and rushes out the door and down the stairs.

"No one touches my son!" I bellow at Phil, and then I'm gone, my bare feet slapping against the hard wood floor as I race from the room, down the hall and then the stairs.

I leave everything else behind as I snatch my car keys off the hallway table, and just as I hear Phil shuffling in the bedroom above my head, I tear out of the front door, my bawling son clasped tightly in my arms and our little dog following behind. My hands are shaking as I use the remote on my key chain to unlock the car doors and start the ignition, and I yank the front driver's side door open and dump Collin unceremoniously into the passenger seat. To hell with taking the time to buckle him into his car seat.

"Let's go!" I bellow at the puppy dancing at my feet, and I scoop her up and dump her in Collin's lap.

"Mommy!"' Collin wails, as I climb in behind the wheel, slam my door and toss the gear into reverse. "I'm scared!"

"Everything's okay…" I assure him, as I peel out of the driveway, narrowly missing the front end of Phil's car as I swerve to avoid it, my tires gouging into the grass of my front yard, then bouncing over the curb and onto the street.

I switch the car into drive, and then make a hasty plan on where to go. I don't know where Donnie lives, or if he's even at the same apartment he'd been in during our relationship. And Phil will check Bianca's first, and I don't' want to bring that kind of drama onto her and the kids. And the only other people I know in Queens, the only other possible safe haven lies two blocks away.

"Mommy?" Collin sniffles.

"We're going to be okay," I assure him, and then I peel off down the street towards the family that had once welcomed me as one of their own.

* * *

"Who lives here, mommy?" Collin asks fearfully, as I bounce him comfortingly on my hip. "Where's Luna? Why is she in da car? Can't she come with us?"

"Not yet. She's fine where she is," I reply, and press a kiss to the side of his head. "And these people are friends of mommy's," I explain, as I reach out and rap my knuckles against the wooden door. I'm holding the screen one open with my left shoulder, and the grey cement of the front porch is cold against the bottom of my bare feet. I know that someone's home; I can hear a radio playing in the rear of the house where the kitchen is located, and there's a black Buick Regal in the driveway.

"Fwends of yours?" Collin asks, as he rubs his runny nose against my shoulder.

I nod, and bounce nervously and anxiously on my heels as I knock vigorously once more. "Please answer!" I nearly sob. "Please…please just answer…don't do this to me!"

"Hows come no one home?" Collin inquires, as he lays his head on my shoulder and strokes my hair softly. I wince as he hits the lump on the back of my head from hitting it off the wooden shelves. My hand is swollen and aching, and it hurts to swallow.

"Someone is home," I tell him. "Maybe they just can't hear us…maybe they're just…"

"Are they nice fwends?" he asks.

"They're Donnie's mommy and daddy," I explain. "And they're your grand…"

Before the word can escape my mouth, I hear the sound of a chain being drawn across wood, followed by the loud click of a dead bolt. And relief surges through me as the door finally opens and reveals Donnie's father standing there, clad in a pair of jeans and a Mets sweatshirt, a glass of what appears to be whiskey and ice in his left hand, his snow white hair mussed. Shock and curiosity register on his face as he lays eye on Collin and me. I'm sure I look a mess after my altercation with Phil, and I'm certain my makeup is smeared from one end of my face to the other from the relentless flow of tears. And I know what he's thinking as he takes in the sight of the little boy in my arms. His grandson.

"Hi!" Collin chirps, and graces the older man in front of us with a dimply smile.

"I'm sorry," I tell Don Senior. "I didn't know where else to go…I didn't want to come here but there's nowhere else…my parents are out of town and I don't know where Donnie lives and if I go to my best friend's house he'll find me there…"

"What is going on Bree-Anne?" he asks, concern in his voice and in his brilliant blue eyes as he studies me carefully. "Who did this to you?"

"Please…" I beg. "There's no where else for us to go…I had to get away…he was going to hurt Collin…he was going to do something to him and hurt him…I couldn't let him hurt my son," I ramble, then taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, I take the biggest gamble of my life. "Your grandson," I add.

If he's surprised at the revelation, he certainly doesn't show it. And honestly, it's quite clear that Collin is his own flesh and blood, and that I've been a fool to ever think it wasn't obvious all of those times I'd seen him and Patricia at church or while out in the neighbourhood.

"I'm sorry," I sob. "I shouldn't have kept him from you…I shouldn't have lied about it…you deserved to be part of us life and I never meant…I'm sorry…"

"Give me the baby," Senior lays his drink on the porch and motions for me to hand Collin over. "Pass him to me, Bree-Anne. It's okay now. Everything's okay."

I nod, then hold my most precious treasure out to him.

"Come and see me little man," Senior gives Collin a warm, affectionate smile and takes him into his large, strong arms. "Come and see your grandpa."

"You're not grampa," Collin declares, as he curls his arms around Senior's neck. "Grampa's far, far away with grammie."

"My parents are in the Dominican," I explain. "Collin, this is your other grandpa," I explain, and reach out to run a hand over his shimmering black hair.

"I's got two?" he asks, his eyes widening.

I nod and smile. "You just haven't been able to see him because mommy…"

"Because your mommy couldn't find us because we went away for a long time," Senior finishes for me, and I give him an appreciative smile. "But your grandma and I are back now."

"I's got another grammie too?" Collin inquires, sheer awe on his face.

"What about Donnie?" Senior asks me. "Does Collin know that…"

I shake my head.

"I think you're going to have to take care of that ASAP," he tells me. "Now come inside, Bree-Anne…come inside and everything will be okay."

"What about Luna?" Collin pipes up, as Senior steps aside, allowing me access to the house. "That's my puppy," he informs his grandfather.

"I love dogs!" Senior gushes. "How about we get you and your mommy comfortable and then I'll bring her inside. Okay?"

"O'tay!" Collin agrees. "She likes to lick my toes!" he announces, as Senior lays his hand on the space between my shoulders and gently directs me into the house. "Is my grammie here?" he asks excitedly.

"She'll be back soon," Senior replies, and as we step into the foyer and he closes the door, he surprises me by wrapping an arm around me and pulling me tightly against him. "Everything's okay, now," he whispers, and drops a kiss on the top of my head. "You're both where you belong now."

I nod, and curling my arms around his waist, rest my head against his chest. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm sorry I hurt all of you."

"None of that matters now," he says. "All that matters is that you're here now. All that matters is where we go from here, Bree-Anne?"

I sniffle noisily, and looking up at him, manage a brave smile.

"There's nothing to be scared of now," he assures me.

And for the first time in a long time, I finally feel safe once again.

* * *

**Huge thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and just lurking! I appreciate all of the support!**

**Special thanks to:**

**CSINYMinute**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Andorian Ice Princess- AIP**

**ParaCaerOuVoar**

**xSamiliciousx**

**Forest Angel**

**wolfeylady**

**Blue Eyed Author**

**monoxide lullaby**

**Soccer-Bitch**


	14. Never Too Late

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS**

**WARNING: SLIGHT SEASON FIVE FINALE/ SEASON 6 PREMIERE SPOILERS**

* * *

**Never too Late**

"This world will never be what I expected  
And if I don't belong who would have guessed it  
I will not leave alone everything that I own  
To make you feel like it's not too late, it's never too late

Even if I say it'll be alright  
Still I hear you say you want to end your life  
Now and again we try to just stay alive  
Maybe we'll turn it around 'cause it's not too late  
It's never too late."  
-Never Too Late, Three Days Grace

* * *

_**Flack's POV**_

I'd been on the subway and half home -Jessie had been the one who'd convinced me to leave my SUV at home more often and use the 'tube' instead of both giving myself massive headaches because of traffic woes, and spend an outrageous amount of money on parking- when I'd been hit with the thought I was going about things all wrong. Phil had already put a dent in my armour and tarnished me within the department when he'd filed that restraining order. What little of me was left to blemish that is, considering the Dean Truby/log book fiasco haunts me to this day. I'd figured that bulldozing my way into a formal benefit wasn't going to help my reputation, and that I needed to keep my head on straight and be smart about things. Phil is sneaky, ruthless and cunning, capable of outsmarting me at every turn. I need to hold my cards tight to my chest and somehow manage to get the jump on the sonofabitch. I prefer to keep my friends close, and my enemies closer, and to hit them hard and fast. Not giving them the opportunity to see what's about to nail them. If I want to be in control of this situation, there's only one person I know who can be that cold and manipulative when the need arises. A man with a poker face unlike any other I've ever seen in my entire life. And if there's anyone that can help me out and school me in the fine art of acting swiftly and silently, I figure he's the perfect -if not the only- choice.

A block away from my usual stop, I had ended up getting off the subway and getting on another that would take me back into mid-town. A hell of a hassle considering how bad the crowds are on the trains at that time of the day. Nothing like being squished into the proverbial sardine can when it's a hundred degrees outside and you're clad in jeans and steel-toed boots. Thirty minutes had felt like thirty hours, and sweat glistens on my face and forehead and drips down my neck and back as I step onto the elevator at the crime lab and hit the button for the thirty-fifth floor. I stake my claim on the back left hand corner as other passengers scurry into the lift, and I give a polite nod as Haylen Becall - the young, pretty blond charge of Mac's that had started out with crime scene cleanup a year ago and had successfully moved up to CSI- as she squeezes her way through the doors right before they close. She's an all right girl; incredibly bubbly and sweet, if not a little annoying with her constant barrage of questions she unleashes on you during a case. And I won't deny that she's smoking hot. Or that I've had to turn her down and deflect her attempts at flirting at least a dozen times since Jess died. I swear she must have the anniversary of the death marked on a calendar somewhere, because a year and almost an hour to the day, she'd appeared at my desk and asked me out, declaring that I'd 'spent enough time without female companionship' and that I 'needed to live again'. To which I'd none too politely told her to take a hike and informed her that I was neither lacking in cheap and easy ass and that she'd just ruined any chance of every hooking up with me.

Right now however, I roll my eyes as she slips through the mass of people inside of the elevator, drawing annoyed stares and grumbled profanities as she pushes her way towards me and then parks herself right beside me.

"Hot out today, huh?" Haylen asks.

"Classic case of stating the obvious," I reply, and fisting the bottom of my t-shirt in my hands, use the front of it to wipe my face and the front of my neck. I can feel her eyes burrowing into me. Or should I say, what exists below my waist, and most likely the nasty scar that graces the lower left hand side of my abdomen.

"It certainly is hot in _here_," Haylen declares, and runs the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip as she fans herself with the case folder in her left hand.

I find her attempts at flirting so ridiculous, that I actually laugh aloud.

"What's so funny?" she asks with a frown.

"Nothing," I say with a shake of my head. "It's just been a hell of a day. Hell of a couple days, actually."

"I heard the rumours," she tells me, a hint of curiosity mixed in with her sympathy. "About the restraining order. Is it really your ex girlfriend that you're stalking?"

"I am not stalking anyone," I angrily inform her. "And yeah…she is my ex girlfriend. And she's also the mother of my kid."

"I heard that rumour too," Haylen says. "I was kind of hoping that that one wasn't true."

"Well, it _is _true and I guess if you've heard it all, then there's no reason for you to be talking to me about it," I snap.

"You know," she eyes me with disdain. "You'd actually be very charming if you were a little…_nicer_."

"I happen to be a very, very nice guy," I inform her. "As long as you're on the list of people that deserve me being nice to them. And guess what?"

"I'm not on that list," Haylen concludes.

I give her a grim smile. "You're not on that list," I confirm.

She shoots me a foul look, gives a loud huff in disgust and leans back against the mirror that takes up the rear wall of the elevator. I rake a hand through my hair, the profuse sweat causing it to stand on end, and I remove my cell phone from the holder clipped to the right front pocket of my jeans. I'd put the device on silent when I'd entered the building, and I'd been hoping that Breezy would have called me by now. It's been over two hours since I'd left her in Bianca's care, and I'd left a message with the nanny, whose been watching Collin and Bianca's two youngest, instructing 'Miss Bree-Anne' as the young Filipino woman calls her, to call me. I'm worried about her. I know how extremely sensitive she is and how her emotions often overwhelm her and she blindly reacts to situations because of it. My concern is that she'll lash out if Phil starts in on her and that out of anger and jealousy, he'll do something to hurt her. Or Collin. And if anything ever happened to either of them…well I honestly can't even bear to consider that.

The grief that I've suffered over losing Jess had been staggering enough, and I'd nowhere loved her to the extent that I loved -love- Breezy. And I don't think I could cope if I ever lost her permanently. If Phil even lays a hand on her or messes a hair on her hear or goes anywhere near my kid…well I'd make sure even his own mother wouldn't recognize his face if she had to pick him out of a line up.

"What's her name?" Haylen asks, as I slip my cell back into its holder with a heavy sigh.

"Who?" I inquire.

"Your ex girlfriend."

"My girlfriend's…" I stress the last word. "…name is Bree-Anne."

"You're not pissed that your girlfriend filed a restraining order against you? And what kind of weird relationship do you to have if she would even…"

"My girlfriend didn't file the order against me," I interject. "And our relationship…our relationship is none of your business. It's personal. As in just between her and me. So if you don't mind…"

"Say no more," Haylen holds her hands up in surrender, then flips open her case folder and focuses her attention on the papers inside. In turn, I stare up at the illuminated numbers above the elevator door as we slowly approach the thirty-fifth floor. "Is it true that her ex husband is some dirty cop who stole drugs from a raid and killed someone?" she suddenly asks, breaking the silence. "That you two were having an affair and…"

"Are you always this nosy?" I inquire. "Or do you have some kind of bizarre obsession with me?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Flack," she snorts. "You're not that interesting or appealing. I'm just trying to get the straight goods. That's it."

"Then let me give you the abbreviated version," I retort.

"Abbreviated?" she chuckles. "Now there's a big word. Do you pick a new word to learn every day? Hoping you can use it to impress?"

"We were high school sweethearts," I continue, ignoring her. "We dated from the time we were fourteen until we were eighteen. We broke up when she went away to college. Then we met up again when she hooked up with one of my detectives. That's all you need to know."

"What about your kid?"

"Leave my kid out of this. Trash me all you want, just don't say anything about my kid."

"Relax…all I was going to ask is if it was a boy or a girl."

"A boy," I tell her. "He's two and a half. His name is Collin. And that's all I am telling you. It's my business."

"Okay…okay…" she grumbles. "Take some happy pills why don't you."

A nasty response is on the tip of my tongue, but I hold it back when the elevator suddenly shudders to a stop and the soft, melodic chime announces our arrival at my desired destination. And as the doors slide open, I motion for Haylen to go ahead of me.

"So you do have _some_ manners," she quips, then steps off the elevator, her long blond hair swaying against her back as she hurries in the direction of the labs.

"Fucking bitch," I mutter, shooting daggers at her departing figure as I make my way towards Mac's office.

I really hate not having the last word.

* * *

As I approach the crime lab boss' domain, I notice through the surrounding glass walls that Mac is parked behind his desk, his mouth set in a stern line, his brow furrowed and his fingers pounding furiously at his computer keyboard. Surrounded by case files and plagued by not nearly enough hours in the day, he's intently immersed in business. It's just a regular day in the life of Mac Taylor, I guess. Snowed under by seemingly endless mountains of work, harassed by sometimes clueless lab techs that he must feel as if he's babysitting as opposed to commanding, and barely given any time to breathe let alone scratch his ass. I honestly don't know how he does it; run the second best lab in the country so efficiently when he's always under so much pressure from the brass to produce more while he's being given less and less to work with.

Mac demands the absolutely best from his people, and constantly receives it. He also commands respect -more so by his strict, tough as nails, take no shit approach to both work and life than actual verbal orders- and he gets it. He's honestly my mentor, even if he isn't my direct commanding officer, and I value his opinions and his advice. And despite our occasional differences and the fact we very rarely see eye to eye, I have nothing but immense respect for the man.

I curl the fingers of one hand around the handle of his office door and rap the knuckles of the other against the glass. Mac glances away from his computer screen and looks towards me; a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he motions for me to enter.

"Hope this isn't a bad time," I comment, as I yank the door open and poke my head inside.

"There's never really a good time around here, Flack," he responds. "But my door is always open for you. Figuratively speaking in this case, of course."

I close the door behind me as I step into the office, and I grab one of the black vinyl and metal chairs tucked into the corner and place it in front of his desk before dropping heavily into it. Placing my elbows on my knees, I issue a heavy sigh and tunnel my fingers in my damp hair. Now that I'm here in his office, I have no damn clue what to actually say to Mac. My main objective had been to see if he'd heard about the benefit at The Hilton and see if he could score me an invite or even a stint of security detail so I could get myself in without causing a scene. And now that I've sat down and not only rested my weary body but I've ordered my brain to take a time out, I can feel the raw emotion threatening to consume me. Twenty four hours ago I'd discovered I have a son I'd never knew existed, and since that moment on Breezy's front steps making that first attempt at bonding with my boy, things have spiralled out of control. My personal life, while looking promising, is currently in a shambles. I don't know if I'm coming or going; or who's going on the trip with me.

And it suddenly all hits me. Starting from present to past. Breezy's back in my life and we're attempting to repair things and start anew, her jealous, insane boyfriend has filed a restraining order against me, I have a son that regardless of the reasons why, I've been kept from for two and a half years. I realize that I've made a mess of my life. Drinking too much, practically whoring myself out in a poor excuse to deal with my grief, using women for the sake of having physical needs fulfilled because less of an emotional bond meant less of a chance of getting hurt when they walked away from me. And most of all, for the first time in a year, it hits me square in the chest that Jessie is dead. That she's never coming back. And that I'd been unfair to her when she had been in my life. I hadn't been able to love her the way she'd wanted me too, and she never should have settled for being with a man that would always be devoted to someone else.

I don't know if Mac senses my impending emotional break down, or if he's worried I actually will lose it in front of him, but he hasn't said a word since I've sat down. I can feel that formidable presence though; Mac is strong and assertive without being overbearing, and without actually physically touching me or engaging me in a conversation. I can feel his eyes on me and sense both his apprehension, and his concern. He's giving me the time to compose myself; while preparing to take matters into his own hands if he feels the need to.

Taking a deep breath, I release it slowly before removing my hands from my hair and leaning back in my chair. I honestly don't care at this point in time how messed up I look. Whether or not my hair is standing completely on end or sweat has stained every inch of my t-shirt. Or if the hot tears threatening to blind me are noticeable to the man sitting across from me. For an entire year I've keep a lot of shit inside. Instead of reaching out and seeking the help that I needed to get me through losing Jess, I'd drowned my sorrows in beer and Jack Daniels and had fucked anything and everything that walked with a wiggle and showed remote interest in me. I'm ashamed of what I'd become, and terrified I'll slip so easily back into that pattern. Most of all, I'm scared of the recent developments in my life. That it's just all too good to be true. That despite my best of intentions, Breezy will realize that I'm not the same man she'd fallen in love with at fourteen, and again years later. That I'm not good enough for her, or for Collin. That I'll be a monumental fuck up as a life partner and a father. And that she'll realize she deserves so much better and take both herself, and Collin, away from me.

"Mac…" I can barely get his name out of mouth, and suddenly I'm shaking my head and tears are slipping down my face and I'm horrified at that I've shown this side of myself. That I've shown that I'm capable of shame and vulnerability. The only person I've ever cried in front of -other than Breezy and my parents- was Danny that day at the hospital when he'd shown up and I'd told him that Jessie was gone. I've never been anything but rock solid in front of Mac, a man who desires professionalism and integrity. And I feel as if I've somehow pissed or shit on sacred ground showing my weaker side to him. My body acts before my brain even begins to register what the hell I'm doing; I'm on my feet and making a break for the door. Desperate to get the hell out of the out there and to a safe place.

"Don…" Mac has somehow beat me to the exit and stands between me and the glass, and I can't bring myself to look him in the eye in the fear of seeing disgust and disappointment. But I do feel the weight of his hands on my shoulders. "Don't do this to yourself," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Don't make yourself go through this by yourself. It's been a year and you need to finally deal with this."

"It's not just Jess," I say, as I frantically wipe tears off of my face with the sleeve of my t-shirt. "This isn't just about her. It's about a lot of things. Too many things. And I don't know…I don't know how much more I can take, Mac. It's Jess and it's me and it's my life in general…everything's happening at once and it feels like I can't breathe…like I can't catch my breath and that my head is just going to explode."

"You never gave yourself a change to grieve," he tells me. "At least not in a healthy way."

"I fucked up," I shamefully admit. "I made a huge ass mess out of my life. But I didn't know how else to deal with losing Jess like that. And then being in that bar when it got shot up and Danny's life nearly being destroyed. It was all just too much and I handle shit the only way I felt like I could. And it's no excuse. For doing the things I did or acting the way I did. And I make myself sick when I think about what I was like. Because I'm not like that. I'm not like how I was, Mac."

"I know…and anyone that is close to you knows that too, Don. Just like I know that there's a lot weighing you down and you're going to drown if you don't get it out. And you're here now. And I'm here. I'm here and I'll listen to whatever it is you have to say."

"Bree-Anne Truby," I tell him, and he nods in understanding. He knows who Breezy is. Everyone does thanks to the defence attorney ripping her apart on the stand at Dean's trial. And I'm also pretty sure that if Haylen has caught wind of the restraining order and the fact I have suddenly stumbled about my previously unknown child, that Mac has heard both the somewhat twisted truth from Sinclair, and the rumours that are no doubt swirling around. "I went to see her yesterday," I continue. "I went to see her to make amends for what I did to her and I…I found out that…" I sigh heavily.

"That the child you thought was Dean Truby's is actually yours," Mac finishes for me. "That Bree-Anne' son is your son."

I nod and finally lock eyes with the older man in front of me. I realize that he'd always known, or at least suspected just as Stella had, that the baby Breezy had been carrying three years ago had in fact been mine and not Dean's as she'd told me it was and just as I'd told everyone close to me. Mac hadn't said anything; it would have been entirely out of character for him to delve into my personal life and pressure me to take action. And he'd also probably been trying to keep the sometimes fragile peace between us as we attempted to repair our relationship following the logbook incident.

"Two and a half years Mac," I sniffle noisily. "Two and a half years she's kept him from me. She's known all that time that he was mine and she never told me."

"I'm sure she had reasons, Flack," he says, and lays a hand on the back of my neck. "I know that it hurts and that it seems unreasonable and it makes little sense, but she probably felt that it was the best thing to do. Not just for herself and the baby, but for you, too. I doubt she did it to be vicious, to intentionally hurt you."

"She didn't. And I get where she's coming from. I get that she was just doing what was best for him. And me. But he's my son Mac. He's my son and I would have been there for her from day one. I've missed out on everything. I missed out on the pregnancy, I missed out on his birth, his first birthday, when he learned to walk, when he learned to talk…"

"You missed out on milestones in the past two and a half years," he tells me. "But your son has a whole life ahead of him to live. And there's going to be thousands of wonderful and amazing things you'll get to experience with him. Don't let the hurt and the anger prevent you from seeing what is still ahead of you."

"It's just…it's a kick in the stomach. To go there to see her and then see him and know that he's mine."

"It's a shock. A mortal shock," Mac agrees. "But think about how Bree-Anne must have felt to have you just walk back into her life. You're not the only one affected here, Flack."

"I never thought about it like that," I admit.

"For nearly four years she's gone on with her life and you've had no clue how she's been doing it or how she's felt being without you. She's taken care of that little boy all on her own and now…well now all of sudden you're there on her doorstep. It has to be overwhelming for her too. Try to see where she's coming from and understand what she's had to deal with."

"I'm not always the most empathetic bastard around," I quip. "You want to see him?" I ask, as I reach for my wallet. "Collin? I have a picture if you want to see it."

"I'd love to see him," Mac says, then gives the back of my neck a squeeze before steering me away from the door and in the direction of his desk. He picks up the box of Kleenex sitting in the midst of his paperwork and sets it down close to the chair I deposit myself in once again, then retreats to a small silver bar fridge under the window that I've never noticed before and yanks open the door. "Stella bought it for me," he explains, when he notices my perplexed expression. "And she keeps it stocked…" he steps aside, allowing me a look at the contents. Bottles of vitamin water, plastic baggies full of celery and carrot stick, pieces of raw cauliflower and broccoli, along with a jar of ranch salad dressing, some fresh fruit, pita bread and humus, and a box of chocolate chip cookies. "She likes to make sure that I at least but something in me when I go on one of my marathon working sessions," he says, and takes out two bottles of water.

"She's trying to fatten you up," I comment. "First she domesticates you, next she'll fatten you up, then she'll have you quitting work to stay at home and take care of the kids while she continues to be a career girl."

"Now let's not get ahead of ourselves," Mac says, and uses his foot to close the fridge door. "Let's get the rings on our fingers first."

"Any chance that's going to happen soon?" I inquire curiously, as he sets a bottle of blackberry-grape flavoured water down in front of me and takes a seat behind his desk.

Mac just gives me a smile. THAT smile, as Danny calls it. The one that tells you that you're pushing your luck and he's not going to answer your question.

"You'll be married a lot sooner than I will," I declare.

"Don't count your chickens before they're hatched," Mac says, and twisting the cap off of his water, takes a long swig. "Now that Bree-Anne's back in your life."

"I'm far from husband material," I say, and opening my wallet, pluck out the picture of Collin that I'd tucked inside earlier that afternoon. "Here he is…" I lean forward and offer Mac the photo. "Here's my boy."

Mac reaches out and takes the item from me. A smile crossing his face as he studies the photo. "Good looking boy," he says with an approving nod. "Looks exactly like his daddy."

"You're making it sound like that's a bad thing," I chide. "Best thing that could have happened to that kid was looking like his old man."

"From what I remember, Flack, his mother is nothing to sneeze at," Mac says with a grin.

"She's definitely something," I agree. "She's always been the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Even when we were just kids. Something about her. Mac…" I shake my head. "I can't…I can't stay away from her…second I saw her, it was like no time had passed. And I never realized how much I'd missed her. And how much I still love her."

"Well the two of you have created something incredible," he says, then holds the picture back out to me. "Do me a favour? Get me a copy of that? Or another one of him? I'll put him right next to Lucy here," he nods in the direction of the pewter frame that holds the picture of Lucy Messer that the Lindsay had gotten taken in honour of baby's first birthday. "That way both children of members of my time have a place of honour."

"Thanks, Mac…" I feel somewhat humbled by his suggestion. "That means a lot."

"He's your son, Flack. Regardless of how old he was when you found him, he's still yours."

I nod and tuck the picture back into my wallet. "So I guess you heard," I lean back in my chair and sip my water. "About the restraining order."

"I did," Mac confirms. "But I've also heard that it's in the process of being negated."

I arch an eyebrow. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Sinclar called me," he says. "Both to bitch and moan about you being served with one, and to tell me that a lawyer representing Bree-Anne called him and threatened to charge the department with issuing a false order to a decorated officer. You can imagine he's not impressed."

"He's a dick," I declare, then turn sheepish when I see Mac's eyes widen. "But that's just my opinion," I quickly add.

"He's currently in the process of crapping his own pants over the thought of negative publicity being brought down on the department," Mac continues. "I guess this lawyer made a stink about Bree-Anne's boyfriend being somewhat wealthy and powerful and that the NYPD catered to him because of it. Sinclair seems to forget that somewhere in there is a judge that had to be crooked enough to even issue the order in the first place. But that's neither here nor there. His concern is how the department looks in the public eye."

"And how he looks to the major when he decides it's time to run for Commissioner," I add, and Mac nods in agreement.

"Sinclair is all about the big blue machine and his own political gains," he says. "And you're right…" a grin plays on his mouth. "He is a dick."

"Day he becomes Comish is the day I quit," I declare. "Now if it was you up there, you'd get my support a hundred percent."

"Political office or any kind is not in my future," Mac says. "Being the Commissioner of the NYPD?. That's just…" his voice trails off and he shakes his head.

"Career assasination?" I offer. "A one way ticket to the nut house?"

"Exactly," Mac agrees.

"Well just think," I muse. "Those guys with the straight jackets come for you? You might be put in a padded room right alongside of your girlfriend, Ella."

Mac smirks. "Let's not even go there, Flack. Stella hears you utter that name…"

"And she'll cut my balls off and shove them down my throat. Understood," I take a swig of my water. "I was wondering if you could do me a favour," I say.

"I can try," Mac responds.

"You always catch wind of the charity galas and benefits. You've been to all kinds of 'em in your time. You hear about the one that's taking place at The Hilton on Saturday?"

"Mayor's benefit," Mac tells me with a nod. "Midsummer Night's Dream theme. Stella and I are going. What about it?"

"Is there anyway you can get me an invite?" I ask.

"It's four hundred a plate, Flack."

My eyes widen. "Okay…is there anyway you can get me on the security detail?"

"I can pull some strings. But I need to know why before I do."

"Breezy's douche of a boyfriend is making her go and I guess I wanted to…well I guess I wanted to show up and make him look like an ass. I know that it's stupid and immature and that I should just handle things in a different way. But I told her I'd go Mac. I told her that I'd show up. That I'd come. For her."

He nods slowly as he considers the request. "I'll make some calls," he says. "And if that doesn't work? Well don't be surprised if Stella calls you claiming I'm an ass for pulling out at the last second and asks you to be her date."

"I'll keep that in mind," I laugh. "Thanks. I really appreciate it. I'm only doing it for Breezy. I can't let her down. I've done too much of that since we were kids."

"What are you going to do?" Mac asks. "About Collin? Does he know that you're his father?"

I shake my head. "We're going to talk about what we're going to do. How we're going to handle that. I'd like us to sit down with him and tell him together. He thinks that his dad is on vacation. And that a vacation means that he's never coming back."

"Someone's seen Forrest Gump one too many times," Mac quips.

"Breezy's seen it a million times, I swear. And I get why she did it. Everyone thinks that Dean is his dad and seeing as he's in jail for the rest of his life…"

"Better to have Collin think his dad went away then tell him the truth down the road that he killed someone," Mac reasons.

I nod. "Only now I'm back in the picture and he's really mine and…" I shake my head. "It's a goddamn mess all around."

"Kids are surprisingly adaptable," Mac says. "And he's only two and a half. I'm sure that whatever the two of you decide to tell him, he'll accept. And that he'll be ecstatic that you are his father and that you're stepping up to the plate. Of course there's legal stuff to be concerned with. Support, visitation, custody. But there's lots of time for you two to work that out. Amicably. And then…well then there's the two of you to work on. If there is something to work on."

"There is," I tell him. "We both feel it, Mac. We love each other. We've never stopped loving each other."

"Then the two of you need to build on that," he concludes. "Set up a solid foundation for a relationship. And for the two of you to build a family on. It's a lot to think about, a lot to consider. But you'll know what's best for you. And for Bree-Anne. And for Collin."

I nod and finish off my water.

"I know it's a shock, Don. To go there expecting one thing and finding another. And I understand that it hurts. But like I said, don't let that get in the way of something great. In this case, forgiveness and acceptance are key. You love her, you obviously love your son. Work from there. And allow yourself to be human. To feel things. For a year you've been hiding that side of you."

"It's the only way I knew how to deal," I admit. "I didn't want to burden anyone. Danny and Linday had their issues, you and Stella were working so hard at making something between you, Hawkes had his own problems and Adam…well Adam's too busy trying to hook me up with his sister. I mean, I saw a picture of her and she's totally hot and there's no way she can be related to him. And I'm sure she's a great girl. But thanks but no thanks, you know what I mean?"

Mac nods. "You know, this reminds me of when Reed showed up out of the blue. I remember how shocked I'd been when Claire had told me she'd had a baby when she was young and how she'd put him up for adoption. She used to talk all the time about trying to find him when he hit eighteen, but then she died on nine eleven and she…well she never got that chance. And when Reed just suddenly appeared…well I am technically his step-father and I knew that do right by Claire meant doing right by him."

"And you have," I say. "Done right by him."

"And you'll do right by Collin. I know it's not exactly the same thing. Because he's your biological son and…"

"But Reed is your last link to Claire," I reason, and Mac sighs heavily and nods. And I see a faint glimmer of emotion in his eyes. "I'm sorry," I quickly say. "I overstepped my boundaries and…"

"Just because someone dies doesn't mean you don't love them anymore," he reminds me. "Or that you can't love someone else. I loved Claire in one way and I love Stella in a completely different way. Stella is my second chance at life. She's made me realize that I'm still capable of being loved and feeling love. And hopefully…well hopefully there's a long life ahead of us. Marriage, kids. The whole nine."

I nod, then let a couple of minutes pass before I break out in a grin. "Better hurry up on that kid thing," I tease. "You're not getting any younger."

"Wise ass," Mac smirks, and sips at his water.

A companionable silence falls on us. And we sit there, each lost in our own world.

Of love, loss and re-birth.

* * *

**Massive thanks to all of you reading, reviewing and just lurking! I appreicate all of the support!**

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	15. One Good Friend

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS**

**THANKS TO CASS FOR ALL OF HER HELP! LUV YA GIRL!**

**WARNING: SLIGHT SEASON 6 SPOILERS**

* * *

**One Good Friend**

"Well my Daddy used to tell me  
Any man can be a king,  
it ain't that complicated,  
it's a very simple thing.  
You don't need no castle or throne for sitting in,  
All you need is one good friend.

If you find yourself somebody who will meet you at a stump,  
on a rainy sunday morning before the sun is even up.  
Who'll stand right there beside you and fight any fight you're in,  
then you've got one good friend."  
-One Good Friend, George Canyon

* * *

I feel a thousand pounds lighter when I finally depart Mac's office. I'd never gone in there expecting to have a life affirming, emotionally surreal moment. My main objective had been to nail down a free pass into the mayor's benefit, not to bear my entire soul to the crime lab boss. I suppose that it was actually a long time coming. For an entire year, I'd been bottling up my feelings; turning to booze and the arms and bodies of random women for comfort and companionship. Instead of spending quiet, lonely nights at home surrounded by Jess' memory and allowing myself the opportunity to miss her and grieve for her, I'd instead attempted to ward off her ghost and the memories of our time together completely. And the end result was anything but pretty. It had come to the point where I no longer recognized myself. When I'd lost all desire in my job, I'd found it again in not only getting myself as shit faced as possible nearly every night, but by getting laid as much as humanly possible. Keeping myself in a drunken stupor and busy between the sheets had enabled me to keep my mind off of everything that I'd lost and hold those last painful moments with Jess in the back of that cruiser at bay.

I'm shamed as I leave Mac to his mountains of paperwork and his incessantly ringing phone. He'd given me the proverbial kick in the ass without berating me about how idiotic I'd behave or how I'd not only hurt myself with my behaviour, but those that loved me and the women that I'd used as well. He hadn't sat high on a pulpit; preaching about my lack of morals or my seemingly absent common sense. Instead, he'd been non-judgmental, understanding and compassionate. Dispensing wise advice and propounding affecting me far quicker and easier than any verbal assault of dressing down from my father ever could. And I hate myself for not going to Mac sooner, for not swallowing my pride and reaching out to him. A man who'd tragically lost his wife and knew how overwhelming and debilitating grief could be. I should have known that going to him would have been a lot easier than the self-destructive path I'd taken. That he would have been able to help me before my life totally hit the skids.

But I guess it is better late than never.

As I head for the elevators, I check my cell phone; hoping I had at least one missed call and a message waiting for me. I'm both surprised, and disappointed, that Breezy hasn't phoned me yet. And I guess I'm a bit worried, too. Maybe I'd read too much into our moment in the alleyway. Maybe she'd simply reacted to my kiss because she'd been caught up in the confusion and the excitement of the past twenty-four hours and now that we've re-connected on some level and her mind has cleared, she realizes that she no longer feels the same way she had four years ago. Or even when we were teenagers. Maybe she's just not into me in the same way I'm into her.

That's the optimistic side of me. The paranoid side is telling me that there's something wrong. That for some reasons, while she wants to talk to me, she hasn't been able to. And I'm slightly freaking out that something has gone down between her and Phil. That he's found out either that I've been in contact with her, or that's he's forced her to do something she doesn't want to. Intimately speaking. And the thought of that makes me sick to my stomach. And it's only for her safety that I don't attempt to get a hold of her.

"You keep frowning like that, you're forehead is gonna stay that way," Danny's voice cuts into my thoughts, and I glance up from my phone as he approaches me, a black messenger bag slung across his body and the soles of his Converse runners squeaking against the tiles.

Normally, that sound would annoy me. Now it just serves to remind me of two things. That miracles do exist, and that you never realize how much you take for granted in your life until it's cruelly snatched away. Danny had been extremely lucky -maybe even blessed- when that long shot ten percent had proved to be more of a stubborn bitch than the ninety percent. Of course, he'd undergone excruciating physical therapy that he helped him on the long road of healing; I knew first hand how painful and gruelling recuperating was. I'd been a shit friend to him when he'd needed me the most. I'd been physically and emotionally absent; a selfish prick immersed in my own pathetic universe. I should have been there supporting him, not Hawkes. And while it seemed as if there was a wedge between us - at least to me- Danny didn't appear to be holding any grudges.

"I woulda thought once you got your legs back the beard would have taken a hike," I retort, as I turn my cell's ringer on and tuck it back into its holder.

"Naw…" Danny ruins both hands along the side of his face, and then tugs at strands of hair on the bottom of his chin. "My Montana loves her Mountain Man."

"I was thinking more along the lines of Backwoods," I chide. "Every time I see you, I expect to hear the theme music from Deliverance start to play."

"You know, each and every time someone mentions that movie, my ass starts to hurt," Danny declares with a wince. "What's going on? Why you in with Mac when you should be behind your desk picking your nose or at home kicking back and relaxing?"

"Safe to say you've heard about what went down earlier," I sigh.

"Everybody's heard about it," Danny says. "You know what this place is like, Flack. Second someone scratches their ass or pisses in the shower, it's all over the place. But a restraining order? What the fuck is that all about?"

"A fake restraining order," I correct. "It's a bunch of shit, Mess. Just a jealous ass of a boyfriend that can't stand the thought of me being…"

"Around Bree-Anne or your kid," my best friend finishes for me. "What?" he asks, when I stare at him, eyebrows arched. "That's the juiciest part. No one is going to leave out the juiciest part."

I sigh heavily and shake my head.

"Walk with me," Danny orders gently, and placing a hand on my elbow, leads me towards the elevators. "You wanna go and grab a coffee or something?" he inquires. "Have a nice long chat? Or I can call Linds and tell her I'm bringing home a guest for dinner? You're always welcome at our place, Flack. You know that."

I nod. "Coffee's a better idea right now," I tell him. "It's been a hell of a long day and I'm not in the greatest mood and I'm not the most sociable bastard right now."

"Right now?" Danny laughs. "What ya mean _right now? _Linds and I expect nothing less than anti-sociable miserable shit from you."

"You're a goddamn comedian," I grumble, and reach out to press the down button for the elevator.

"Just trying to lighten the moment," he reasons, and then bounces up and down on his heels. I've long ago learned that that's a sign that Danny has something he's either dying to say, or desperate to ask, and I look over at him expectantly. "So Bree-Anne Truby, huh? You can't seem to stay away from her."

"I don't want to stay away from her," I say.

Before the whole truth and nothing but the truth came out at Dean's trial, I'd confided in Danny about my secret relationship with Breezy, and about our history together. I'd spilled my guts to him; starting at the moment when I'd first met her at our lockers when we were only fourteen. Danny had known -even before Breezy's testimony- how much I loved her, and how I'd planned on asking her to marry me once she was divorced. He'd even been in her company a few times when he'd come over to my place to hang out and she'd been there. And while he didn't agree with us carrying on behind Dean's back, he knew that we were crazy about each other.

"It's been what? About four years since you'd last seen her?" he asks.

"Three and a half," I reply. "She was six months along the last time I talked to her. At the courthouse."

"When she told you that the baby was Dean's," Danny adds, and I nod in agreement. "You never wondered?" he inquires. "You never wondered during the last three and a half year about the baby? You never thought that maybe she'd been lying to you? Or that she just didn't know who the daddy was?"

"I thought about it," I admit. "Tons of times. I just never…"

"Swallowed your pride and pulled your head out of your ass and went after her," Danny concludes. "Instead, you ignored the fact that you were still in love with her and that you might have a kid out there and you settled for anything that came along. Devon, J…"

"Don't even mention Jessie in the same sentence as Devon," I snap. "I didn't just settle for Jess. I was attracted to her, we had a lot in common, we loved spending time together, and I was starting to fall in love with her and I…"

"Even though you were already in love with someone else," Danny adds. "So you never would have been able to love her completely."

"Can we not talk about Jess?" I ask irritably. "She has nothing to do with this."

"A'right…a'right…take it easy. I meant no disrespect. But think about it this way. How do you think it made her feel to know that you were still in love with Bree-Anne? And how do you think she would have reacted if out of nowhere, somewhere down the road in your relationship, your ex had have shown up? BOOM. Instant kid."

I sigh heavily, and dropping my chin to my chest, pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger.

"So why'd you even go there?" Danny asks. "To see Bree-Anne after all this time?"

"Because I'm trying to get my life back in order and I wanted to make amends for hurting her like I did."

"So you had an Earl moment," Danny concludes, just as the chime for the elevator sounds, announcing its arrival. "You go there with good intentions, next thing you know, you're saddled with the next X amount of years worth of child support."

"He's two and a half," I say, as I step onto the lift. "His name is Collin."

"He ugly like his old man or…"

I glare at Danny as he steps onto the elevator and plants himself beside me.

"Just askin'…" he says with a shrug, and presses the button for the lobby. "So for the next fifteen and a half years, you'll be fitting the bill for Collin," he concludes. "You guys talk about that yet? Support? Visitation? Stuff like that?"

"We haven't had the chance," I tell him. "The boyfriend filed the restraining order and then when I tracked her down at Saks Fifth Avenue it was the last thing on our minds and…"

"Whoa…whoa…you went and saw her? Regardless of the order?"

I nod.

"You crazy fucking bastard," Danny says, shaking his head. "Although I don't blame you for practically tripping over yourself to get to her. She still a looker? She still rockin' that red hair?"

"She's amazing," I smile. "She's even more gorgeous now. 'Cause when I look at her…well now when I look at her I think about how she's the mother of my kid. And that makes her even more beautiful."

"I hear ya on that," Danny grins. "They're incredible before and you don't think you could possibly love them anymore than you already do, then they pop out your kid. The baby just makes things even more intense."

I nod in agreement.

"So what's up with you guys then?" he asks. "You back together?"

"We're working on it," I reply. "Slowly," I add, and sigh.

"Slowly…" Danny chuckles. ""In the meantime, you just wanna throw her down and…."

The shrill ring of my cell phone brings an abrupt end to Danny's sentence, and I snag it and check the call display. Both surprised, and disappointed, to see my parents' number show up. My old man never calls me; he can barely stand to be in the same room with me, let along bring himself to talk to me. And my mom only gives me a shout when there's something wrong. Usually because my sister's gotten herself into trouble or my brother's bashes around his wife again. While I don't want to deal with all of that drama at the moment, she is my mother. And I can't let her down. Pressing talk, I place the phone to my ear and prepare myself for her tirade.

"What's wrong, mom?" I ask in way of greeting. "You okay? Is dad all right? Did…"

"Bree-Anne and Collin are here," my dad's brusque voice interrupts me.

"What do you mean they're there?" I asks, my heart immediately constricting in my chest. "At the house? Why are they…?"

"Bree-Anne came here looking for help. I wasn't going to turn them away."

I steal a glance at the numbers above the elevator door; we're currently on twenty-eight. I pound the tip of my index finger into the button for the twenty-sixth.

"What's wrong?" I inquire, a million and one negative and horrific thoughts stampeding through my mind. "Are they okay? What happened?"

"I called your cousin Scottie," my father tells me. "You know, works as a uniform out of the one-three-five here? He's…"

"Dad, what the hell happened?" Panic grabs a hold of me, and I squeeze through the elevator doors before they have the chance to fully open. "Are Breezy and Collin okay? What is…"

"…he's going to come over and take a statement," my old man continues. "I guess the boyfriend got upset, roughed her up. Your mom's lookin' after her right now. Gave her some ice for her hand and the back of her head. Her neck looks like he got a damn good hold on her."

I run a hand over my weary face, the rage inside of is nearly blinding. Turning my back on the elevator, I place the palm of my free hand against the wall, then drop my chin to my chest and close my eyes. "What about Collin?" I ask, painfully aware of the tremor in my voice.

"He's a treat," my dad chuckles. "Can he ever talk up a storm! Charming little thing, huh? He's playing with that puppy of his. And getting along just fine with his grand-dad."

I manage a smile at that. There's a tenderness in my father's voice that I've never heard before. And I can't see the smile that is gracing his face and hear the pride in his voice. Two things that haven't been in the old man's life in a hell of a long time. Suddenly it hits me that while Breezy and my son are in the safe confines of my folks' place, a rather large hurdle stands in my way of going to them. I'd taken the chance of going against the order once; luck won't be with me a second time.

"Dad…" I begin. "…the boyfriend filed a restraining order against me and I can't…"

"Fuck it and fuck him," my dad growls. "Just get your ass here and take care of your family. You made your damn bed, now lie in it. And bring one of them scientist people with you."

And with that, he disconnects the call.

Opening my eyes, I take a deep breath, then release it slowly. My entire body is shaking; my finger barely capable of pressing the END button on my cell.

"Everything okay?" Danny asks, and I nearly jump out of my skin. I hadn't even been aware that he'd followed me off of the elevator.

"I need to get to my parents," I tell him. "It's Breezy and Collin. I need to…I need a huge ass favour, Mess."

"A'right…name it. What do you need me to do?"

"Grab a kit and the keys to an Avalanche and meet me downstairs in the lobby ASAP?" I ask hopefully, as I hurry for the elevator.

"Say no more," Danny says, and takes off for the stairs.

"You aren't taking the elevator?" I inquire.

"Probably get there faster this way," he says, as he pushes open the door. "Take two stairs at a time, I figure."

There's a grin on my face as my best friend disappears into the stairwell and I hear his shoes slapping against cement as he rushes towards his destination. Danny has no goddamn idea how happy it makes me to see him able to even make it one step, let alone an entire flight.

He's a living, breathing miracle.

And thanks to him, I'll never take the little things for granted again

* * *

Danny drives as if he's in the Indy 500. And that's on a good day. He's got the worst case of lead foot syndrome I've ever seen, and suffers from quite possibly the nastiest road rage that I've ever encountered. He masterfully weaves in and out of traffic and barrels through red lights and stop signs without even the slightest concern of whatever moron might not be paying attention to his siren. And if someone dares to cut him off or won't yield to an emergency vehicle, the profanity that tumbles from his mouth -in both English and Italian- is enough to make an entire army of drunken sailors blush. I'd learned early on that I should either just drive myself to avoid my stomach in my throat the entire time and my knuckles and fingers from aching from grabbing the edges of my seat so tightly. While I pride myself in being a safe driver even when I'm rushing to a scene, getting to Queens had been on of those times that Danny's 'take no prisoners and fear nothing' attitude came in handy.

There's a blue and white already parked in front of my folks' place, half on the sidewalk, half on the road, when we finally arrive. We pull the SUV up behind my mom's Volvo station wagon is at the curb several yards down from the house, and there's a metallic burnt orange Pontiac G8 behind my dad's old Buick in the driveway. There's no doubt in my mind that while impressive piece of machinery, Breezy's car was a gift from that sorry ass motherfucker who had the nerve to call himself a man. I just can't see her ever picking out something like that for herself. It just isn't her style and even if she couldn't afford it, I can't fathom her leasing it either.

Even if it does slightly match her hair.

Danny gives a low, drawn out whistle as we hurry up the sidewalk and cross my folks' front lawn. He's practically skipping, kit in hand, as he ventures off the desired path and makes his way towards the shimmering car in the driveway. Here I am, worried about Breezy and my kid and incessantly obsessing over just how bad things are going to be when I walk in the house, and Danny's got one hand over his eyes as he peers into the driver's side window of the Pontiac, his nose against the glass.

"Messer!" I bark. "What in the hell?"

"This is one sweet ass ride," he breathes, and shakes his head. "I saw one just like this at a dealership by my folks' place. It was metallic blue, mind you, but this…" he issues another whistle, and I can practically hear his heart pounding and see him salivating. "This is fucking hot…"

"Focus, Danno," I plead, and fight the urge to snag him by the collar of his shirt and yank him away. "Admire after the work is done, okay?"

"Think she'd take me for a ride?" he wonders out loud as he turns around. Then quickly adds when he sees my annoyed expression, "I mean in the car, Flack. Not on her or on me."

My eyes narrow and I jerk my head in the direction of the house.

"Time and place…time and place…" Danny holds a hand up in surrender and follows me up the front path and then the stairs. "I hope he didn't do something really bad to her. 'Cause if he…you know…I'm not the CSI that should be here with you if he…I mean, she wouldn't want a guy doing a sexual assault kit."

"Just get in the goddamn house," I order, and yank the screen door open. I hadn't actually thought about _that. _When my dad had said roughed up, I'd immediately assumed that he meant it literally. That Phil had knocked her around and put the fear of God into her. I'd never stopped to think that he might possibly have…I can't even finish the thought without bile rising in my throat.

"NYPD!" Danny calls, as he steps into the front foyer, and immediately toes his runners off. One thing he's learned from his various visits to my parents' is that my mom worships her hardwood and will kick the ass of anyone that dares to tread across it in their shoes.

"In the kitchen!" my mother calls in response. "And how many times do we have to tell you to call us mom and dad, Daniel?"

"Speak for yourself!" my old man hollers.

"Is dat Donnie?" I hear Collin pipe up. "Is Donnie here? Donnie's my bestest buddy in da entire world!"

A lump of emotion threatens to cut off my airway, and tears form in my eyes.

Danny steps alongside of me, lays a hand supportively on my shoulder and gives me an understanding, sympathetic smile. "You okay?" he asks.

I nod, then motion for him to go ahead of me.

"A'right…" he says, then tousles my hair affectionately. "Introduce me to your boy, would ya? Uncle Danny needs proper introductions when he's meeting his nephew."

I smile at that, then follow my best friend through the living room and down the hall towards the kitchen. The French doors that lead into the dining room are closed; I can hear my cousin Scott's deep and richly accented voice and Breezy's much softer one as she recounts what she had been through. All I want to do is go in there and sit beside her and hold her hand. To smooth her hair away from her forehead and kiss her softly. Tell her that I'm here and that I'm never going to let anyone hurt her again. That's the attentive and caring boyfriend -is that even what I am?- side of me. The cop side is reminding me that I can't touch her until Danny's done his job.

"Who's this little man?" Danny asks as we enter the kitchen, where Collin is parked at the table in the old wooden high chair that my mom's kept in the basement all these years and that she always pulls out when she's babysitting various kids in the neighbourhood. The damn thing probably isn't even all that safe after all of this time, but Collin looks right at home in it. And comfortable and happy with his new found family. My dad's got Luna the puppy already sprawled at his feet, and there's a drawing -or should I say scribbling- in front of him on the table. Complete with the words, To Papa…Love Collin scrawled across the bottom. My mom has a chair pulled up next to Collin, awe on her face and tears in her eyes as her grandson uses a spoon to feed himself a bowl of macaroni and cheese smothered in ketchup.

"Hi!" Collin chirps at Danny, as my best friend sets his kit on the ground and crouches down alongside of the highchair. "I'm Collin Alexander Truby."

My father coughs noisily and I glance over at him. We exchange the same looks of disgust, then he gets up from his chair and heads for the fridge.

"Drink?" he asks as he passes.

"Stiffer the better," I reply.

He nods, then pauses and turns back and reaches out to squeeze my left bicep tightly.

I look at him, and swallow noisily at the raw emotion that's in his eyes.

"Helluva job on the boy," he says, just loud enough for me to hear, and looks over at the table. "That's one heck of a legacy you helped create."

I nod in agreement and smile my thanks. There's no way my father could ever grasp how incredible hearing those words from him have made me feel.

"And how old are you Collin Alexander?" Danny inquires. I'm thankful he leaves off the last name. Maybe it makes him sick to say -and hear it- too.

"Two and tree quarters," Collin replies. "Do you have kids?" he asks curiously.

"I do," Danny replies. "Just one. Just like your mom. But I have a little girl. She's just over a year old. Her name is Lucy."

"I know baby Lucy!" Collin cries, and Danny's eyes, and mine for that matter, widen. "Mommy and I saw baby Lucy and her mommy today at the peas-station," my son continues, as he spoons some mac and cheese into his mouth. Adding to the ketchup that is already smeared across his lips and down both his chin and the front of his t-shirt. "Baby Lucy is my girlfriend."

"Oh is she now Little Flack," Danny mutters, and I clear my throat once again and shoot him a glare when he looks over. Danny shrugs, as if to ask what my problem is.

"Hi Donnie!" Collin cries, and gives me a wave. "Guess what? Mommy and I are sleeping over here tonight!"

"You are, are you?" I ask, and approaching the high chair, run a hand over his hair and press a kiss to the top of his head. Is it possible to love someone as much as I love him so quickly? Because the way I feel…the pride that chokes at me and the love that floods through me…I can't find words to describe it.

"Did you know dat your mommy and daddy are my grampie and grammie?" Collin inquires. "Did you know that?"

I nod.

"Isn't dat cool?" he giggles and shovels more of his dinner into his mouth.

"So I hear that your mom got into a little fight earlier," Danny says, doing my emotions a tremendous favour. I accept the JD on the rocks my old man offers to me, giving him a nod in thanks as he returns to his chair and I walk across the kitchen and lean back against the sink.

Collin nods. "With Phil," he confirms.

"Who's Phil?" Danny inquires, as he opens the latches on his crime scene kit, and pulling out a pair of latex gloves, snaps them on.

"Mommy's boyfriend," the toddler replies. "I hate him."

"He's not a nice guy, huh," Danny states, and takes out a notebook and a pen. "You want to tell me what happened, buddy? You feel up to talkin' about it?"

"Mommy was in da closet," Collin says. "And Luna and I were watching Blues Clues. Does baby Lucy like Blues Clues? Are you really her daddy?"

"I am really Lucy's daddy," Danny smiles. "And yeah…she loves Blues Clues. And Dora. You like Dora?"

"Dora's for girls," my son declares. "I like Diego though. Dat's Dora's cousin."

"I like Diego too," my best friend says. "He's cool, huh?"

Collin nods.

"So you and Luna were…"

"That's my puppy," the two and half year old informs the man in front of him. "Luna! See!" he points under the table. "Do you like dogs? Does baby Lucy have a dog?"

"I love dogs," Danny answers. "So does Lucy and Lucy's mommy. But no. We don't have a dog. Maybe baby Lucy and her mommy and I can come and see your dog sometime? You down with that?"

Collin nods enthusiastically. "Phil hurt mommy," he announces. "Mommy was crying. Lots."

"How did he hurt her?" Danny jots down the information. "Did you see how he hurt her?"

"No…she was in da closet and I was on da bed with Luna watching Blues Clues. She was doing this though…" Collin drops his spoon and places one hand on the back of his head, the other around his throat. "That's where he hurt mommy. And then she hurt him."

"How'd she hurt him?" Danny inquires.

"She kicked him real hard!" Collin exclaims. "Right here!" he points to his crotch and I nearly spit my drink across the kitchen, unable to reign in a chuckle as Danny's lips quiver as he fights back a smile.

"Then what happened?" my best friend asks.

"Then she grabbed me and Luna and ran outta da house!" the toddler picks his spoon back up and continues with his dinner. "And then we came here. To papa and nanny's house. Did ya know that papa and nanny are Donnie's mommy and daddy?"

Danny nods.

"Donnie's my bestest buddy in da world," Collin gushes. "But you know what, Lucy's daddy?"

"What, buddy?"

"I wish dat Donnie was my forever daddy and not my buddy. 'Cause my daddy is on vatation and never coming back and I don't have a forever daddy."

My mom nearly loses it right there and then. And Danny has to stop her chair from toppling over as she jumps up and flees the table. I attempt to grab her by the arm to stop her, but she clasps one hand over her mouth and pushes me away with the other as she hurries past.

Danny gives a pained smile and a slow nod, then reaches out to brush Collin's hair away from his forehead. "You know," he says. "Sometimes if you close your eyes real tight and wish real hard, well sometimes you'll wake up one day and that wish will come true."

"Really?" Collin's eyes widen. "Really Lucy's daddy?"

He nods.

"I try!" my son cries, and squeezes his eyes shut. "Hows long do I wish for?" he asks.

"I'll count to…five…and then you're done," Danny replies. "Okay?"

"O'tay!" Collin agrees.

"One…two…three…"

"Too fast!" the toddler exclaims. "Too fast Lucy's daddy!"

Danny grins and slows himself down. "One…two…three…four…five…okay…open your eyes, big guy."

"Maybe now it comes true dat Donnie will be my forever daddy?" Collin asks hopefully.

"You never know," the man at his side replies. "What else happened with your mommy?" Danny asks. "Anything else you want to tell me?"

"No…" Collin shakes his head. "Wait!" he cries, then sets his spoon down and pulls up one of his sleeves. Revealing the start of some nasty purple bruises around the top of his tiny arm. "He hurts me too!"

"That dirty sonofa…" my old man mutters, and the rage that simmers in his eyes directly mirrors mine.

Danny shakes his head at the sight of the marks. "I just gotta take a picture of that, okay little F…little man?" he asks, then removes his camera from his kit.

Collin nods, and helpfully holds his sleeve up so Danny can photograph it.

"You wanna help me with an experiment?" Danny inquires, as he replaces the camera and reaches for a cotton swab, encased in a cardboard container. I know what he's doing; sneakily obtaining a DNA sample that he can run in our lab's system to compare to my own internal control sample. There's no doubt in my mind, in anyone's for that matter, that Collin is mine. But a test proving it will be a good thing to have. Legally speaking.

"What kind of 'periment?" Collin asks warily.

"Well, see this thing here?" my best friend tears the carton open and taking out the contents, holds it up. "This is a swab. And this is going to tell me all kinds of information about you. It's really kind of cool. You up for it?"

"I do if you do," the toddler says.

"A'right…" Danny uses the swab in his hand to perform the test on himself first. Sticking it in his mouth and gliding it along the inside of his cheek before removing it and dropping it back into the container. "Your turn?" he asks, and puts his sample in his kit and takes out another swab.

Collin nods.

"All I need you to do is open your mouth real wide, big guy," Danny says, ripping open the carton and removing the swab. "Can you do that for me?"

Collin swallows the food in his mouth, and tilting his head back, opens his mouth as wide as possible.

"Good boy…" Danny praises, and proceeds to swab the inside of my son's mouth. "That's a good boy…don't move…I'm almost done…you're being a really good boy…okay, all done."

"Does Donnie get one too?" Collin asks.

"Donnie already had one earlier," Danny replies, as he seals the swab in its carton and jots Collin's name down on the side of it. "Later on, I'm going to take this to my work and do some cool tests on it. Just me. No one else will see."

I give Danny a grateful smile, knowing he's said that last part for my benefit.

"Yours too?" Collin inquires.

"Both of ours," Danny stands up and snaps off his gloves before tousling my son's hair. "You're a really brave boy, Collin. You're a brave, strong boy for helping your mommy out. If your forever daddy was here, he'd be real proud of you."

Collin gives him a beaming smile and returns to his dinner.

I swallow down my drink and fight with my emotions yet again.

"I gotta go make a call to Linds, tell her I'll be late," Danny tells me, then pats me on the shoulder. "Soon, Flack. Tell him soon. If not for him, for me. 'Cause honestly?" he shakes his head. "I can't hear him talk like that again, okay? Tell him."

I nod.

"Good thing he looks like his mother," Danny quips. "'Cause if he looked like you…"

"Get the hell outta here and make your call," I chuckle, and he pats me on the side of the face and heads for the door.

"I'll be back in a sec, little man!" he calls to Collin.

"O'tay Lucy's daddy!" my son responds, and continues to happily dig into his meal.

I sigh heavily and glance over at my old man; his blue eyes riveted on me as he shakes his head slowly.

"Soon," I promise him.

He sighs heavily, then turns to his grandson with a smile on his face.

_Soon _isn't quite soon enough.

* * *

**Huge thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and just lurking! I appreciate each and every one of you!**

**And for all of those curious about Lucy and Collin...check out the first (and maybe not the last) of my new little thing dedicated to them, _The Keeper of the Stars_**

**Special thanks to:**

**Afrozenheart412**

**CSINYMinute**

**Hope4sall**

**Andorian Ice Princess -AIP**

**Forest Angel**

**Monoxidelullaby**

**ParaCaerOuVoar**

**x3sunnydaay**

**xSamiliciousx**

**Yoda 11**

**BlueEyedAuthor**

**New-york-babeee**


	16. Ever the Same

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS**

**THANKS TO EVERYONE THAT IS ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVES!!**

* * *

**Ever the Same**

"You may need me there  
To carry all your weight  
But you're no burden I assure  
You tide me over  
With a warmth I'll not forget  
But I can only  
give you love

Fall on me tell me everything you want me to be  
Forever with you  
Forever in me  
Ever the same  
Call on me  
I'll be there for you and you'll be there for me  
Forever it's you  
Forever in me  
Ever the same."  
-Ever the Same, Rob Thomas

* * *

I stand in the entrance to the living room; heart breaking at the sights and sounds that are unravelling in front of me. I am barely able to hold my own emotions in check as she sits sideways on the couch, forehead resting on the arm of the couch as she cries, face obscured by hair as her entire body is wracked by powerful sobs. At the front of the house, through the open screen door, I can hear Danny on his cell phone, his voice soft and affectionate as he speaks to his wife. Assuring Lindsay that both Bree-Anne and 'Lucy's boyfriend are fine'. Behind me and down the hall in the kitchen, my old man and Collin are having a conversation about, of all things, lime flavoured Jello. Dad sides with Collin when my son announces that 'gween jelbo' is his favourite food in the entire world, and I notice my father's near blunder when he says,

"You know, when your da…when your Donnie was a little boy, he loved lime Jello. I think he still does."

It's a tremendous save on my dad's part. And a hell of way to reveal one of my stranger food weaknesses to the entire house.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I release it slowly and cautiously approach the crumpled and broken figure on the couch. I can't stand to see her this way. This strong, proud woman, who's weathered many a storm, resorted to a weeping mess. And if there's one thing in this world capable of bringing me to my knees in an instant, it's seeing her this vulnerable.

She gives a slight start and a whimper as I gently touch her shoulder. Then I sink down onto the couch beside her; twisting my body sideways in order to rub her back comfortingly with one hand, and stroke her hair with the other. One of her own hands slip out from under her face, and she reaches behind her to tightly entwine her fingers with mine. And as I press a kiss to the back of her head, I only hope that I'm a reassuring, calming presence to her.

"It's okay, mommy," I whisper.

I haven't used that term of affection since I was a little boy, and I'm slightly startled it slipped so easily out of my mouth. We've had many moments like this before, mostly when I was in my early teens or barely even into double digits. When I'd had to be the one to console her after a beating at the hands of my old man. Sam and Chris were always too scared to get involved; afraid he'd rain shit down on them if they took our mom's side. So I became the shoulder to cry on, the doctor to her many broken noses and her split lips, the marriage counsellor who'd tried umpteen times to convince her to grab us kids and run. And eventually, when I got too big to be bullied and was tired of my dad's shit, I'd become her protector too. All my life, I've always been the one that people can rely one; the one they can go to when they needed a sympathetic ear or a proverbial kick in the ass. For once, I'd really love someone to reciprocate.

"Donnie…" she says my name with a little whimper. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be acting like this. I shouldn't be…"

"Nothing to be sorry about, mom," I assure her, and bent my head to press a kiss to the top of her head. "It's just a lot to deal with all at once. You find out you have a grandson one day, Breezy shows up on your doorstep the next…"

"I always knew," she sniffles. "I always knew he was yours. "That he was the grandbaby that I'd always wanted the two of you to give me. But she was hurting and dealing with so much that I…that I turned myself off to keep my sanity. Because every time I saw her and Collin in church, I wanted nothing more than to go over to them and scoop that little boy up and have him call me grandma. And it hurt so bad and I had to find a way to protect myself."

I nod in understanding and softly rub her slender wrist with my thumb.

"And to protect you," she adds. "And I know I should have told you. That if you knew about him you'd do the right thing…"

"And I am going to do the right thing," I say. "I'm going to take care of Collin, mom. I'm going to do whatever I can to do right by my son. And right by Breezy, too."

"Please don't let them get away," she pleads. "Don't let Bree-Anne and Collin walk away from you. Fight for them. As long and as hard as you have to. This is a second chance, Don. A second chance at happily ever after for the two of you. For all of you."

"There's no such thing as happily ever after, mom. There's always going to be issues. Bad shit to try and get through."

"And you'll do that together," she stresses the last word. "As a family. The two of you have found your way back to each other. After everything you've been through, especially in the last year, Breezy's come back into your life right when you need her the most. Please don't let her slip away this time, Donnie."

"I promise you that I'll take care of her and Collin," I tell her once more. "That I'll always love them. No matter what. That I'll be a better man for them. And I'm sorry, mom. That all of this didn't get resolved sooner. If I'd just gone after her that day following her testimony. If I' had have just chased her down and told her dad to take a hike…"

"Everyone did what they thought was best," my mom reasons, sniffling noisily as she sits up and wipes at her eyes with the backs of her hands. "Bree-Anne did what she did to protect Collin. And you. Don't fault her for that. Don't fault her for loving you that much."

"I won't," I promise, and lean sideways to peck her cheek.

"She can't go back to that house," my mother declares. "If she goes back there, he'll find her. I don't want anything else happening to either of them. There's more than enough room here for the two of them, and we love having them here and getting to know our grandson. And you know how much we've always adored Bree-Anne."

I nod.

"But this is your family, Don. It's your family and it's up to you to protect them."

"I'll talk to Breezy about what she wants to do," I say. "See if maybe she wants to bring Collin over to my place and the two of them can stay there until her folks get back, or if she wants me to stay with them at the house. I can't force her to do anything. You know what she's like mom."

"Stubborn and feisty as all hell?" she asks, then smiles at me. "And hopelessly in love with you." she states.

I smile at that, and then look over as the screen door rattles open and Danny steps into the foyer and gives us a sheepish, apologetic smile.

"Don't be shy, Daniel," my mom waves him into the room. "You've been coming around for how long now? Since the two of you first became partners in crime?"

"It's been about eleven years.." Danny says, as he joins us in the living room and takes seat in my mother's prized Queen Anne armchair. He's precariously perched on the edge, as if he's afraid he's going to break the damn thing. "…since I met this bum at my first crime scene," he finishes, nodding in my direction.

It had been only my third shift in homicide, a rather nasty 'disembowelment via satanic ritual' case in Hell's Kitchen. The rain had been hammering down, serving only to make the stifling heat and the ferocious humidity even worse, and I'd been forcing myself to breath through my mouth in order to keep my stomach from rebelling due to the hideous smell. Intently immersed in the notes I was jotting down in my log book, I'd just gotten a glimpse of Danny out of the corner of my eye -forensics kit in hand and a massive chip on his shoulder- as he ducked under the crime scene tape. During my previous two shifts, I'd had run ins with Mac about letting my guys parade around the scene, potentially putting it at risk for contamination, and determined not to endure the former Marine's wrath a third time, I'd quickly stormed over to the CSI just as the top of his head cleared the tape. And laying a firm, strong hand on his chest to prevent him from going any further, I'd demanded to see his badge and some ID.

"Who are you? The crime scene troll?" he'd retorted.

I'd been unable to hide the smirk that had rapidly spread across my face. Despite the fact that this kid, in his horrendously baggy and wrinkled suit -he'd honestly looked like a little boy playing dress up in daddy's clothes- and his even worse hair with it's frosted tips, Danny and I had immediately hit it off. Instead of our sarcastic, often conceited personalities conflicting with each other, they'd actually served to compliment one another. We'd gelled -both professionally and personally- and had become a dream team of sorts within the department; solving record numbers of cases. Even now we're a one, two punch, matching smart mouths and balls of steel. We'd been hanging out religiously for the past decade. Trolling the bars in our single, carefree days, shooting hoops, watching sports on the weekends while swallowing down countless beers and greasy takeout.

Years after our first meeting, I'd found out that Danny had busted out his crime scene troll comment on Detective Vicaro from the 3-4. During a case involving some dude name Garage Joe that made weird ass sexual apparatuses, a dead, naked girl who'd been into some kinky shit, and her husband who'd gotten his revenge for years of being her bitch by ploughing her into a tree while she was upside down on some contraption on the front of their truck. While dresses in a black PVC outfit with a ball gag in her mouth.

There's a lot of fucked up people out there, that's for sure.

Including Danny, who'd actually confided in me that after a night out getting trashed with Aiden, they'd done the deed -just that once, too- and had fantasized together about something called a 'Robo-spanker'.

I don't get paid enough to hear messed up crap like that.

Danny sighs heavily, and placing his hands on his knees, runs his hands over his weary face.

"Papa!" Collin shrieks, then lets loose a hearty laugh that causes Danny to chuckle and my mom and I to smile. "You're not 'spose da blow bubbles in your juice! Mum-mum says it's not what good boy do! Dat it's rude!"

"What your mommy doesn't know, won't hurt her," my old man reasons. "Our little secret, okay sport?"

"My lips are sealed!" Collin declares.

"God…" my mom giggles and shakes her head in disbelief. "He's so smart…he's so beautiful and so smart, Donnie."

I give a nod, and a proud smile.

"Kid's been raised good," Danny concludes. "His mom's done a hell of a job, that's for sure. Especially considering…you know…_the circumstances."_

"You couldn't have picked a better mother for your child," my mom gives a content sigh. "He's happy, he's well adjusted, he's got better manners than most adults…"

"Was that a cheap shot?" I ask, and nudge her playfully with my elbow.

"…and he's so adorable and so, so very intelligent," she finishes, ignoring me.

"Makes you wonder how in the hell he could ever come from your son," Danny quips, and dodges a slap I direct at the back of his head.

"Just means that Bree-Anne has extremely good genes and that she passed down everything incredible," my mom teases me, and reaches up to tousle my hair.

"What is this, pick on Donnie day?" I grumble. "In case neither of you noticed, my boy is damn good looking. Black hair, blue eyes, dimple in his left cheek. He's going to be the most popular kid in school; have to beat the girls off with a stick. He'll have a harem by the time he's ten."

"Well let's hope he inherited his mom's good sense _and_ her brains," Danny says, then glances towards the hallway leading to the kitchen as the French doors to the dining room click open and my cousin Scottie steps out.

Four years younger than Breezy and I, Scottie had started grade nine at our school just as we were going into our graduating year. Like every male on my father's side, my cousin is well over six feet and has a broad chest and wide shoulder and an intimidating presence. Unlike the rest of the Flacks, his mother can be blamed for his looks; vibrant green eyes, curly red hair and a body covered in freckles. Scottie actually resembles Breezy and her brothers more than he does our family. We're definitely on two different ends of the Irish spectrum.

"How goes things?" Danny asks, as Scottie joins us in the living room.

"You mean other than the fact that I wanna go and find this sorry SOB and jump Bogart on his head?" my cousin asks, as he holds up his open memo book and waves it in the air. "Any guy that smacks around a woman…"

"Deservers to be shot and pissed on," Danny finishes. "You done in there?" he asks, and nods towards the living room.

"Just give her a few and then you can go in there and do your thing," Scottie replies. "She's pretty upset. You got a couple of minutes, Don? I just wanna talk to you about all of this for a few."

By 'this', I know he actually means he wants to get the scoop on Breezy popping back into my life and the discovery -by not only myself but everyone close to me- that I have a two and a half year old son. And I give a nod and stand up, then follow him through the living room, into the foyer and then out onto the front porch.

* * *

I notice, as we silently journey down the steps and cross the grass on our way to his squad, that the smell of impending rain hangs heavily in the air. The breeze has picked up considerably; the leaves on the surrounding trees shudder noisily. There's definitely a storm brewing. In more ways than one.

Scottie tucks his logbook into the back pocket of his uniform pants, then tosses open the front passenger door of his cruiser and briefly ducks inside to open up the glove box. I lean back against the rear door and rake a hand through my hair just as my cousin resurfaces, a pack of smokes in his hand.

"This is some seriously fucked up shit right here," he comments, as he stands beside me and nods towards the house. Opening the pack of cigarettes, he shakes one out for himself then offers them to me.

I shake my head and offer a "Thanks, but no thanks,". Despite having been a smoker since my late teens. I'm planning on quitting. Or should I say, cutting back at least for the time being. Breezy's always found it a disgusting habit and used to ride my ass about kissing me being like 'licking an ashtray'. And now that my boy is in my life…well it's time to make some changes. Keep myself healthy. I've got someone that depends on me now. Maybe even two people. If she'll let me take care of her that is.

"You mean what happened to Breezy?" I ask, as my cousin lights the smoke between his lips and inhales deeply. "Or everything else?"

"I mean the whole damn thing," Scottie replies. "Getting a call from Uncle Don that Bree-Anne's here 'cause some prick roughed her up. Her suddenly popping back into your life after all this time, carting around this kid that everyone's just assuming is yours."

"First off, I popped back into her life," I correct, my temper simmering. "I wanted to make amends for the shitty things I'd done to her and I went to her house yesterday. I dropped myself into her life. Not the other way around. Second, that is my son. There's no denying that. Did you look at him? It's obvious who his daddy is."

"Lots of guys out there have black hair and blue eyes," Scottie reasons.

"Breezy was only with two guys at the time Collin was conceived," I snap. "Me and Dean. That's it."

"Just figuring that if she'd cheat on her husband with you then maybe…" his words trail off and he stares at me pointedly.

"Breezy's not a slut," I quickly and angrily defend her. "She never has been, never will be. She was with two men when she got pregnant. Me and Dean. How much goddamn plainer do I have to be?"

"Doesn't gross ya out at she was still sleeping with him even though she was banging you?"

"She didn't want him to know what was going on so she had to act…well she had to act like a wife. In every way. You weren't in the relationship; you don't know what went down. We loved each other. We still do. And if you can't respect her in front of me…"

Scottie holds his hands up in surrender. "You always did have this 'Knight in Shining Armour' complex when it came to her. You never could she her as anything but perfect."

"She's far from perfect," I say. "And so am I. We don't expect one another to be perfect. Just as long as we're perfect for each other."

"So you're just going to blindly throw yourself into a relationship with her?" Scottie asks incredulously. "You're just going to forgive and forget? Roll over like a bitch and say, 'It's okay you kept from me'?"

"We have a lot to work on," I admit. "Breezy did what she did to protect our son. I accept that. It hurts like a bitch and I'm pissed off that I've missed out on a couple of years of his life, but I do accept it. She had her reasons."

Scottie gives a derisive snort and shakes his head.

"What was your reason?" I ask. "Your excuse? You live five blocks from here. Your kids play in the same park. Don't lie and say you never saw Breezy and Collin out and about. And don't bullshit me that you didn't think he was mine. So what's your excuse for not saying anything to me?"

My cousin has no response for that.

"Take a look in the goddamn mirror before you start trashing her," I say. "And I didn't come out here to talk about this. I came out to hear how she was doing."

"Bad bump on the back of her head, swollen hand from the guy apparently stompin' on it, marks on her neck from him trying to choke her," Scottie rattles of Breezy's various injuries and tosses his cigarette butt into the gutter. "Says he didn't rape her or anything like that. Her clothes aren't torn or anything like that, so she's telling the truth. Guess she had to stop him from hurting the baby."

I sigh heavily and close my eyes momentarily, willing the rage away.

"Another uni is over at her house," my cousin continues. "Boyfriend is long gone. Signs of a struggle in the master bedroom so Messer's going to have to head on over there and process that I guess. Got the asshole's work place and home address. So I was thinking…" he lowers his voice. "I'm going to go and pick him up at his office tomorrow morning. Say around…ten? Embarrass the fuck out of him?"

A smirk tugs at the corner of my lips. "Danny and I will meet you there," I say. "Maybe walk him into a couple walls. Lose our way escorting him to your squad and find ourselves in some deserted alley. It would be a damn shame if my gun went off in some freak accident."

"Or if he resisted arrest and got busted up trying to get him under control," Scottie grins deviously.

"That sounds more like wishful thinking than anything," I remark. "Although I could rile him up a little bit, get him to take a swing at me so we can take him down."

"Yeah…I think there's a patch of pavement somewhere out there screaming at us to plough his head into it," my cousin says. "And I'd hate for him to crack his head open on the top of my squad door. You know how bad my judgement is. I could just innocently mess up the distance and slam him into the frame. Accidentally of course."

"Of course," I say, then give a chuckle. "She's okay though?" I ask, serious once again. "Breezy's all right?"

Scottie nods. "Shaken up and a little freaked out, but she's good. She always was a tough little shit, huh? Always kept you in line, that's for sure. Had you whipped from day one."

"I've always worn the pants in our relationship," I grumble, and my cousin rolls his eyes.

My attention is diverted to the front of the house as the screen door bangs open, and I look up in time to see my mom standing on the porch, and Collin using the railing to help himself down the steps. He flashes me a huge grin and then barrels towards us as fast as his little legs will take him, racing across the grass in his bare feet.

"Donnie!" he squeals, his arm tossed open as wide as they can possibly go. "I misses you!"

"He doesn't call you…" Scottie begins.

"He doesn't know," I say through gritted teeth, then I take two long strides towards the house, crouch down slightly and effortlessly scoop that tiny body up into my embrace. Collin's arms immediately circle my neck and he nestles his head in the space between my neck and my shoulder. It's amazing how…perfect…he and I fit together. I easily lose myself in the warmth of his body, the feel of his soft skin against mine and the smell of coconut-his shampoo, I figure, or maybe even sun block he may have worn while at the park with Bianca's nanny- that lingers in his hair and on his arms. I turn my face towards his; gracing his forehead with a small kiss.

"I loves you, Donnie…" Collin declares. "I wishes that you were my forever daddy. Dat you could live with me and mum-mum in our own house. That way we could play all da time! And I wishes that we could have another dog too. Named Sprinkles."

"I counted about four wishes there," I tease him.

Yet again, I fight the urge to tell him that I am, as he so eloquently and heartbreakingly puts it, his 'forever daddy'. It's killing me to hold out on him, even though I know we're all better off if Breezy and I both sit down with him and break the news. I'm almost frightened of how he'll react. He may be only four months shy of three years old, but he's proved time and time again how damn smart and intuitive he is. And that he's incredibly sensitive, just like his mommy. And I'm worried that once he finds out that I'm his father, he'll angrily lash out at both Breezy and I. Her for lying about the whole vacation thing and never letting his daddy meet him, and me for never coming to claim him in the first place.

That's a guilt I'll live with for the rest of my life.

"I just wants tree things!" he pulls back and removing one arm from around my neck, holds up three little fingers. "I wants a new house, I wants you to be my forever daddy, and I wants a puppy named Sprinkles."

"Why Sprinkles?" I ask.

"'Cause that's Blue's sister," Collin replies.

I arch a quizzical eyebrow.

"Blue is da dog on Blue's Clues!" my son gives an exasperated sigh. "Gets with it, Donnie!"

I chuckle at that, then my eyes narrow as I take in the sight of his face. More specifically, his lips, tongue and teeth. All three of which are a distinct lime green. "You look like you've been French kissing an alien," I tell him.

Collin's eyes narrow as well and he furrows his brow as he tilts his head to the side. An expression I'm notorious for and that despite us never meeting until yesterday, I've somehow passed down to my boy. I can practically hear those gears grinding inside of his head as he thinks about what I just said and attempts to put two and two together. And then he finally gets it and breaks out into a wide, dimply grin as he tips his head upright once more. His eyes crinkle at the corner and his nose twitches as he lets out a musical giggle.

"You's funny, Donnie!" he cries. "I was eatin' da gween Jelbo."

"Gween Jelbo is one of my favourite thing in the world," I tell him, and Collin throws his head back and gives a belly laugh at my use of his 'language'.

"Me loves food!" my son exclaims. "Lots of kinds!"

"Me too," I grin.

"Mum-mum makes da bestest peanut butter chocolate chip cookies in da entire world," Collin declares. "And da bestest banana cake."

"Yeah? Well I make the bestest banana pancakes in the entire world." I inform him.

"Me loves pancakes!" Collin says, and rubs his tummy enthusiastically. "Donnie?" he asks, then wraps both arms around my neck and lays his head on my shoulder once again. "How comes you never said you loves me too? Don't you loves me too?"

"Of course I love you too," I tell him, and press another kiss to his forehead. "I'm sorry…I should have said it before," I say, then reach between us to tickle his tummy. God, that kid has the most amazing giggle. Exactly like his mother. "How about we go in and see mommy. We'll see how she's doing."

"Mum-mum feels better?" he asks hopefully. "No more ouchies? No more crying?"

"Her ouchies are getting better. And she might cry a little bit more. But that's okay. If mommy needs to cry, that's okay. We'll let her cry and then we'll try and make her feel better."

"Lots of tissues," Collin says, and the word comes out sounding like tish-shoes. "And lots and lots of ice cream. Mum-mum loves ice cream. Chunky Monkey!"

"We'll go to the store later and buy her some," I promise. "Let's go inside, okay?"

"Mum-mum's with Baby Lucy's daddy," my son informs me. "Is she getting a test too?" he asks curiously, and leaning back in my arms, brings a hand to his mouth and mimics swabbing the inside of his cheek.

"Maybe," I reply. "Can you say bye to Scottie?"

"Bye-bye!" Collin cries, and waves to my cousin -_his cousin_- as I carry him across the grass. "Bye-bye peas-man Scottie. Next times can I go in your peas-car?" he asks hopefully.

"Absolutely buddy," Scottie replies. "See ya tomorrow, Don."

I wave farewell over my shoulder as I mount the front steps.

"Are you sweeping over too?" Collin asks me, as I yank open the screen door. "Are you going to sweep here too, Donnie?"

"Do you want me to sleep over?" I inquire, as I step into the house.

My son nods. "You can sweep me with. But you have to get your own blankie. My blankie is special."

"What's so special about your blankie?"

"Blankie has a soul," Collin tells me in all seriousness. "And I always sweep with Blankie 'cause she makes me feel safe."

"Well I'm a big, strong guy," I say. "Won't sleeping with me make you feel safe?"

"Yeah…but I still needs my blankie…maybe mum-mum will sweeps with us too."

"Maybe," I say, and a million and one dirty thoughts about sharing a bed with Breezy rush through my mind. _Now is not the time, _I scold myself, as we head for the dining room. _Now is not the time to be thinking about her naked or in any state of undress. Tonight's all about making sure she and Collin are okay and safe._

_Besides after three and a half years of fantasizing, what's another few days?_

* * *

"I don't understand why you have to do all of this," Breezy is saying, as I slip into the room with our son still in my arms.

She looks up from intently watching Danny rummage through the kit that is open on the table in front of them. She manages a brave, albeit somewhat shaky smile meant for both mine and Collin's benefit. I attempt to return it with one on my own, but all I can see is the start of those bruises around her slender, pale neck and how badly swollen her hand is as it rests on the table top. For Collin's sake, I force myself to stay calm and to not blindly react to the instant thought to hunt Phil down now and exact my own brand of revenge.

"I'm okay," she assures me, and my eyes finally find hers. She can obviously see the concern, and the disgust, written all over my face. "Honestly, Donnie. I'm okay."

"Mum-mum? Collin asks. "Are you's sad? If you's sad Donnie and I can get you some ice cream."

"I'm fine now, Button," she assures him, and flashes our son one of her dazzling smiles. "What's that all over your face?" she asks, giving a small start as Danny snaps his gloves on noisily.

"I was Fwench kissing an alien," Collin replies, and his mom's eyes widen as Danny and I chuckle. "Dat's what Donnie said," he explains. "Did you know dat dat's baby Lucy's daddy?" he inquires, and points at Danny.

Breezy nods.

"I'm happy that baby Lucy's pwetty like her mommy," Collin declares, and I can't help but laugh heartily. Especially at the offended look that my best friend casts in our direction. Or is it irritation? He feels threatened about some boy, even a toddler, commenting on his baby girl.

"Relax, Messer," I say, and then use a foot to yank a chair out from the table. "He's only two and a half."

"Tree soon!" Collin corrects. "'member Donnie? I'll be tree soon! You know what I wants for my birthday, mum-mum?"

"What?" she asks, then winces when Danny pushes the hair away from the back off her head to both exam, and take a picture of it.

"I wants a new house, a puppy named Sprinkles and Donnie to be my forever daddy!" Collin informs her excitedly, as I drop into the chair across the table from her. "Lucy's daddy told me dat if I wish hard enough, dat Donnie might be my forever daddy one day! Is dat true? 'Cause I want Donnie to be my forever daddy. Will it come true, mum-mum?"

"Some day," she tells him, then gives me a soft smile. "I already know that Phil did this. So why are you doing all of this again?" she asks Danny, anxious to change the subject, and I place Collin on the ground to allow him to run around the room. He immediately heads for the old-fashioned wooden rocking horse in the corner closest to the window, along with a wicker basket full of toys that my mom keeps on supply for the kids she watches.

"You know it was him and we know it was him," Danny responds, as he lets her hair tumble down her back once more and then moves to stand alongside of her. I watch as he reaches out, and with a tenderness and care that I never even knew he possessed, turns Breezy's hand over so that her palm is resting flat against the table. "But we still need evidence. So if he decides to plead not guilty, that when it goes to trial we have the proof to make the charges stick."

"How can he plead not guilty?" she asks. "I mean, he was the only one there. Collin knows he was there. And he sure as hell can't argue and say my two and a half year old beat me up."

"Almost twee mum-mum," Collin corrects from where he's playing with the cars of a small wooden train set. "I'm almost twee."

"I've heard people use stranger defences," Danny says, and photographs Breezy's hand. "We got him pretty dead to rights though. Especially seein' as he filed that restraining order against Flack 'cause he was pissed off that you guys were back kickin' it together. It made him snap; gave him motive."

"Nice way of putting it, Mess," I smirk. "Kickin' it together."

"I would have said knockin' boots but there's tiny ears in the room," Danny grins. "And I'm not sure if that's exactly what you guys are doin' or if that's what you're even up to yet."

"Quit fishing for the dirty details," Breezy says. "How long until it would go to trial?" she asks curiously.

"Way our system is backed up?" I ask with a shrug. "Could be as quick as a few months, could be as long as a couple years."

Her eyes widen. "He'd be in jail all that time?"

"For a simple assault he'd be released on bail and held on his own recognisance," Danny explains. "I know…I know, there's nothing simple about assault. Especially when you're the one getting bashed around. But that's just the way it is. He would probably be held over night, get a bail hearing first thing in the morning."

"Or walked through the system 'cause of who he is and how much money he has," I grumble, and Danny nods in agreement. "Don't worry, Breezy…whether or not he's behind bars doesn't matter. He won't get to you or Collin again. We'll get a restraining order against him and…"

"A friend of mine had a restraining order laid against someone and he walked right through it and put her in intensive care," she sighs.

"Phil isn't going to get anywhere near you," I assure her. "You and Collin are safe now. I was thinking that we'll go back to your house with Danny when he goes over to process it and we'll grab some stuff for you and Collin. Clothes, some toys for him…"

"I needs blankie," my son says, from where he's lying on his tummy in front of the toy basket. "I can't sweep without her."

"And his blankie," I add. "And diapers or whatever…"

"I don't wear baby pants, Donnie!" Collin informs me. "I'm a big boy and I wears big boy pants! I goes pees in big people potty!"

"Sorry," I hold my hands up in surrender. "We'll get you some big boy pants then, okay?"

"Dat's better," Collin says, then gets up onto his knees and looks around the room.

"I figure we'll all stay over night and then tomorrow after work I'll come back and get you and Collin," I continue, as Danny silent continues processing Breezy. "And then we can either stay at your house or we can…"

"I don't want him coming there and finding us there," she says fearfully. "If he finds us there, with you…"

"So we'll go back to my apartment and you guys can stay with me until your folks get back. Make sure you call them, okay? So they know what happened and that you're staying with me. Or even just tell them you're staying at a friend's house."

She nods in agreement, and out of the corner of my eye I see our son curiously eyeing the framed photographs that take up a small, three shelved bookcase on the left hand side of the window.

"Does you have a pole to slide down?" Collin asks. "So you can get to your peas-car?"

"Policemen don't have poles to slide down," Breezy explains. "But fireman do. At the fire station."

"I've got lots of other cool stuff though," I tell him. "Lots of video games we can play together."

"Do you have Little Einsten?" he inquires, his back towards us as he surveys the pictures. "Mum-mum bought me Little Einstein game for Christmas. How long is it 'til Santa comes? How many more sleeps?"

"Lots," Breezy tells him. "Lots and lots and lots."

"How long?" he presses. "You smart, mum-mum. You do da math."

She laughs and shakes her head, and I reach across the table to squeeze her hand. She looks across the table at me, then gives me a soft smile and entwines her fingers with mine. The thoughts and emotions in her eyes directly mirror mine; we know we've created something wonderful and beautiful together. That somehow, through all the craziness, we'd manage to create this incredible little life together.

"Lookit!" Collin suddenly squeals excitedly, then scoops a photo off the shelf and hurries to the table. "Lookit it, mum-mum!" he hurries over to the table and standing at her side, shows her the treasure in his hands.

"What do you have there, button?" she asks.

"It's me!" he cries. "It's a picture of me!"

She frowns, then I notice her eyes widen as our son turns the frame around to show her the photo in question.

"See!" he exclaims, and then rushes over to me. "See Donnie! It's me!"

I take the frame from him, a lump forming in my throat when I realize that while the smiling toddler in the picture -dressed in a pristine navy blue and white sailor outfit, white leather walking shoes on his feet- isn't Collin, it looks exactly like him.

Swallowing noisily, I look across the table at Breezy as her hand tightens around mine. Neither of us need to express what we're thinking at this exact moment.

_The clock is ticking. _

* * *

**Huge thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and even just lurking! I appreciate all of the support!**

**Special thanks to:**

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	17. Healing Hands

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS**

**THANKS TO EVERYONE THAT IS ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVES!!!**

* * *

**Healing Hands**

"Tonight I cried the tears of a child  
Who knows what fear runs deep and wild  
Inside  
But the river's in flood tonight

I lay down and the light streamed across my face  
I felt the beauty of some deeper grace  
And I tried  
To find my way to the other side

I feel your skin as smooth as silk  
Drunk like a baby on his mama's milk  
Take me down under the wishing tree  
Lay your healing hands on me

Been a long time riding this deserted train  
There's no messiahs out here, baby  
But I found the holy grail all right  
'Cause I'm lying in your arms tonight."  
-Healing Hands, Marc Cohn

* * *

"I'm telling him tonight," Breezy suddenly announces, breaking the silence that had descended on us the moment we'd stepped out of my parents' house. I'm behind the wheel of that metallic burnt orange car - "Awesome ride," I'd told her when we'd pulled out of the driveway. "But the colour does shit for my eyes"- while Danny follows behind in the Avalanche.

The moment with Collin stumbling upon my picture as a toddler and automatically assuming it was him, had been extremely awkward to say the least. An uncomfortable hush had immediately fallen on the occupants of the room, and the only sounds had been Danny's shuffling about as tended to his work and the soft rustling of clothes as Collin attempted to climb up onto my lap. My eyes had never left Breezy's; our gazes strong and unrelenting across the dining room table.

"How comes there's a picture of me, Donnie?" he'd asked. "How comes nanny and papa already has a picture of me if they just met me?"

I'd opened my mouth to speak, to offer up some sort of explanation. Maybe even the truth. But I'd stopped short of saying anything when I'd felt Breezy squeeze my hand tightly and I'd seen the fear and the uncertainty in her eyes. It was a huge deal for her; for all of us, really. For the past two and a half years Collin had lived in almost blissful ignorance. With two of Breezy's brothers living out of state -one in Michigan and the other in Seattle-, two in Albany and the other working out of the government consulate in Dubai, the only male that had had a constant presence in my son's life was Breezy's father. Collin simply didn't know anyone else outside of his own little world. Until this afternoon, he'd been completely unaware that he'd even had another set of grandparents, let only he'd already come in contact with his birth father, one he'd been told was on vacation and never coming back. And now here I was, ready, willing and able to assume the roll of his daddy. It was a scary time for all of us. I had no clue about what it really took to be a dad. I'd been blessed with a rather horrific one and hadn't learned any valuable lessons from him on how to be a decent parent.

The only thing he did teach was that a real man didn't hit. A real man didn't beat on his wife and his kids and call them horrible names and make their lives a living hell. A real man listened with patience and compassion, even if those two emotions were virtually absent in the middle of an argument. A real man taught his kids how to love the people and the world around them, to treat others as they would want to be treated, to respect not only other people, but themselves as well. A real man, although it was sometimes a struggle, practiced the art of forgiving instead of fighting. He tucked his kids into bed and told them he loved them and that he was proud of them. He kissed his wife when he left the house in the morning and made sure he told her how much he adored her, out of fear that one missed opportunity could lead to a lifetime of regret.

I am determined to be the father to Collin that my old man never was to me. And I certainly wouldn't be this head strong and passionate about being the best man I possibly can for Breezy and Collin, if my father had have been even half of what my siblings and I, and my mother, had needed and had wanted him to be. So maybe I do have something to thank him for after all. His monumental mistakes turned out to be life-altering lessons for me.

"You think he's ready to hear it?" I ask, and cast a glance towards her.

Breezy's eyes are closed, and her right elbow rests on the window ledge as she presses her hand to her forehead. I can't help but think how damn adorable she looks with her hair in a loose ponytail and her face devoid of any makeup; the freckles that dust her nose, under her eyes and across her forehead on glorious display. She's almost drowning in an ancient and tattered NYPD sweatshirt of my dad's that she's pulled on over the tank top and shorts she'd fled her house in, and she sports a pair of white canvas runners that my mom uses to do her gardening in. She's tired and irritable from her ordeal; and I've never been more proud of her. Time and time again when we were together, she'd proved to me how emotionally and physically strong she is capable of being. In a way, I guess she's always had to be that way. She'd done well when she'd left home to attend college when everyone else thought she'd crack under the strain of studying and the incredible homesickness she'd always felt even when on high school or church trips. And when I'd bailed on her while she was pregnant and she'd needed someone the most, she'd obviously taken care of not only herself, but our son as well. My absence, while stupid and immature, has done little to affect the child that we made together. He's happy, incredibly intelligent, and well adjusted. And it's all thanks to his mother.

"I think it's more of a case of us being ready to say it," Breezy replies with a weary sigh, and tucks loose strands of hair behind her left ear. "We're going to have to do it sooner rather than later," she tells me, and reaches out to lay her hand lightly on my thigh.

It's our first shred of physical contact since we'd left the house, and even the slightest of touch causes my heart to race, and I'm startled by the profound effect that she still has on me. After everything we've gone through, even with all the lingering anger and simmering hurt, the fact of the matter is that I love her beyond all comprehension. There's brief moments where I'm able to actually forget all about Dean Lessing and the log book bullshit with Mac, where I'm able to slightly forgive myself for ever hurting her and walking away on what was supposed to be the start of our lives together. Where, if I close my eyes and wish hard enough, just as Danny had told Collin to do with his desire for a 'forever daddy', that I feel as if three and a half years haven't passed. That Dean never killed Ken Tanaka and there'd never been a Devon or a Jess. That it had just been Breezy and I all along.

"If you think that you're ready to do it, then I'll be right beside you when I do," I say, and entwine my fingers with hers.

"Are you ready to do it?" she asks, as she removes the hand from her forehead and looks over at me. "Because if anyone's life is going to be massively effected by this…"

"You mean am I ready to go from being just Collin's bestest buddy in the whole wide world to being Collin's daddy?" I ask.

She nods and brings her right hand up to her face and chew nervously on the cuff of the sweatshirt.

"I was ready to be Collin's daddy three years ago when I'd found out you were pregnant at the courthouse," I tell her. "I didn't know that he was mine at that time, Breezy. But I…"

"I honestly didn't know then, Donnie. I really didn't. I didn't know if the baby belonged to you or Dean. As horrible as that makes me sound and as disgusted as it makes me feel to admit it…"

"Whether or not he belonged to me or Dean, I wanted to be there. I wanted to be the father of your baby. Even if it wasn't biologically. I would have taken you in, Breezy. I would have asked you to marry me and the three of us could have been a family. I would have raised Collin even if he hadn't had my DNA."

"Only I didn't give you the chance," she says sadly. "I never let you be there for me. I never should have walked out of that courthouse with my father. I should have left with you. I'd wanted to be with you, Donnie. But I was scared and confused and I…" she sighs. "I was immature and stupid and I never should have walked away from you. And I should have stood on my own two feet and gotten a hold of you. Instead of letting my parents strong arm me into staying with them."

"We walked away from each other," I tell her. "We're both to blame here, Breezy. Neither of us are innocent. We both made huge mistakes and we both could have done things differently. But you know what? We can't go back and change things. No matter how bad we want to. And what matters now is that we've found each other again. We're together and we have the chance to do things right this time. Not just for ourselves, but for Collin, too. For our son."

She nods in agreement.

"I'm ready to be in your life again," I say. "And I'm ready to be in Collin's life. I'm ready for us to be a family and to take him to the park and push him on the swings; teach him how to skate and play football and hockey. Take him on camping trips and fishing in Battery Park. I'm ready to tuck him into bed at night and read him bedtime stories and chase the monsters out of his closet and out from under his bed. I'm ready to hug him and kiss him and hear him tell me he loves me. I'm ready for all of that."

Breezy gives a soft smile and squeezes my hand.

"And I'm also ready for us," I add. "For whatever lies ahead of us. We're going to do things at your pace. No matter how fast or how slow you want to go. I'm in this for the long haul; I'm not taking off this time around. All you have to do is tell me how you want to handle us and I'm onboard with it."

She bites her bottom lip contemplatively, then takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. "Is it wrong that I want it all?" she asks. "Is it wrong that I want to pretend that we were never apart? That I just want to jump head first into the deep in? That I want us to say to hell with it and throw caution to the wind and just…I don't know…just act like nothing ever changed between us."

"Nothing ever really did," I tell her. "I always loved you, Breezy. There was never a time I didn't. It's just that I…you…we were on one huge, screwed up self-imposed hiatus I guess."

She laughs at that. "I guess that's one way of putting it."

"I want to believe that we would have found our way back to each other eventually," I continue. "Whether it was yesterday or tomorrow or a week for now or a month or even a few years. Everything would have come full circle and we would have found one another again."

A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "When did you become the thoughtful, deep one?" she asks, and strokes the top of my hand with her thumb.

"I've had a long time to think about how I've messed up my life," I reply. "Especially in the last year…"

Breezy nods solemnly. "I'm sorry," she says. "About Jess. I don't know how…_close_…the two of you were…"

"We were getting close," I decide being open and honest is the only way to deal with the topic of my deceased ex girlfriend.

Since I was fourteen, Breezy's was always that one person I could tell anything and everything to. The only one in this world that knows my deepest and darkest secrets and my hidden wants and desires, who'd never judged me for wanting to buck the trend by turning my back on the family legacy of a life behind the blue wall of the NYPD. Who never thought I was stupid or made me feel like less of a person because I'd needed her help when it came to my schoolwork or studying for the SATs. Breezy had always had my back no matter what; and she obviously still does. The bond has never been severed.

"We were spending a lot of time together after work, going back and forth between each other's places…"

"Sleeping together obviously," Breezy adds. "Intimately and literally speaking."

I sigh.

"What?" she squeezes my hand. "Did you think I expect you to have been completely celibate for the last three and a half years? I mean, you didn't expect that from me, did you?"

"Well come to think of it…" I say, then chuckle when rolls her eyes and playfully digs her nails into my hand. "Yes, Jess and I were intimate," I confirm. "And it was wonderful and amazing and satisfying and we had a good thing going on."

Breezy nods. "Were you in love with her?" she inquires curiously.

"I was starting to fall in love with her," I admit, and casting a glance out of the corner of my eye, wait for some kind of reaction from Breezy. If it bothers her to hear all of this, she certainly isn't showing it. She's listening quietly and intently, turned sideways in her seat as she clasps my hand tightly in both of hers.

"And?" she presses, when my pregnant pause becomes way too long for her liking.

"And what?" I ask. "I was only with her for five months. Five months isn't long enough to be that serious about someone."

"But we've only been back together, if you can even call it that, for less than two days and you say you love me," Breezy points out.

"That's totally different," I gently argue. "Because I never stopped loving you in the first place. I've been in love with you since I was fourteen years old, babe. It may have been just puppy love back then, but it was still something. There's never been a time since grade nine where I haven't loved you. No matter how far apart it seemed we were. I was with Jess for five months and I was starting to fall in love with her."

Breezy just nods.

"I know the difference between falling in love and being in love," I inform her, sounding more defensive than I'd intended to.

"I know…" she gives me a soft smile. "I'm sorry, Donnie. I never should have asked you about Jess. It's understandable that you're still grieving for her and that it upsets you to talk about her. It's okay. I never should have brought it up and I…"

"You have a right to ask," I gently interject. "And you have an even bigger right to know. The truth is…" I slow down as I approach the corner and flick on the indicator to signal a left hand turn. "I think that Jess felt more for me than I did for her."

"She was already in love with you and you weren't feeling the same thing for her yet?" Breezy asks.

I nod and turn onto her street. "She had told me a few times that she loved me," I say, relieved that it doesn't hurt as much anymore to talk about Jess and our time together. "And when I didn't say it back…well she told me that she'd wait until I was ready to say it _and_ mean it. And then she died and I…there hadn't been enough time for me to say it and mean it. And honestly? I don't know if I was ever going to mean it. I knew I was never going to love her the way that I love you. The way I still love you."

"You can love more than one person in your life," Breezy uses her thumb to stroke my wrist tenderly. "Even if you do love them in a completely different way. There's always room in your heart for a lot of people, Donnie."

"You've always taken up my entire heart," I tell her. "I must sound like a complete asshole, huh? Talking like this about my dead girlfriend."

"Maybe Jess would never have been able to replace what you and I had together," Breezy says. "Just like I can never replace what the two of you had. It may have been brief, Donnie and it may seem to you that five months isn't a long period of time…"

"It's not…"

"But it's still time that you spent with Jess," Breezy adamantly continues. "A lot can happen between people in five months and I'm sure that there were a lot of great times. I mean, you shared a bed with her. And you've never been the type of person that took intimacy lightly. We were each other's firsts and you spent four years of your life with only me and…"

"I cheated on you with Bianca," I remind her.

"You were a dumb ass eighteen year old," Breezy argues. "And you were remorseful afterwards. And as for other relationships…well you told me yourself the second time around that you'd only been with two girls after we'd broken up my first summer home from college. Two people from the time you were nineteen until you were thirty-one. You were practically a born again virgin."

I smirk.

"How many women were you with after we split up the last time?" she asks.

"I don't think I like where this conversation is heading," I reply, as I pull into her folks' driveway and removing my hand from her tight grip, killing the ignition and then watch through the rear view mirror as Danny parks the Avalanche behind the blue and white at the curb in front of the house.

"I know there was that girl Danielle or Denise or whatever. The one whose apartment you were at when those spies broke in and you chased after them in a yellow cab."

"Devon," I tell her. "Her name was Devon."

"So there was Devon in early 2008, Jess in late 2008 until say the middle of 2009..."

I nod in agreement, and the fingers of my left hand tap out a steady rhythm on the steering wheel as I contemplate my next move. Honesty with Breezy means everything to me. I've always been able to open up to her and not worry about her freaking out on me or casting judgement. And if this is our last and only chance at a life together, I don't want anything coming back to bite me in the ass weeks or months down the road.

"There's something I need to tell you," I say with a sigh, just as Breezy unclips her belt and reaches for her door handle. "About after Jess died."

"Okay…" she turns to face me once again.

"I don't even know where to begin," I admit.

"The beginning is usually a good starting point," Breezy teases me.

"When Jess got shot…" I close my eyes briefly; the moment I'd run into that diner and found Jess dying in the middle of the floor suddenly so vivid and so real once again. I can smell the gunpowder in the air, see the life ebbing out of her eyes as her blood cascading out of that bullet hole in her stomach. I remember how all noise around me had seemed muffled and how sheer panic and terror had nearly crippled me as I crouched down beside her. "I was the one that got her to the hospital," I continue, my eyes flickering open and focusing on an indiscriminate object out my window. "I took her in the back of a cruiser and I had my hand…" emotion chokes at me and my left hand subconsciously comes to rest on my stomach. In the exact same place Jess had been shot. "I had my hand over her stomach and I was trying to stop the blood…but there was just so much, Breezy. There was just so much blood and I couldn't…I couldn't stop it…I couldn't help her."

She doesn't offer a comment, nor shake or even nod her head. Instead she reaches up and lays her hand on the back of my neck; the weight of it and the way her index fingers brushes repeatedly against the hair at the nape both comforts and grounds me.

"I was there when she died," I continue. "I was the one that the surgeon talked to and told me that she was gone and I went into see her afterwards. In the OR. And I…"

"You don't have to tell me about that part, Donnie," Breezy says softly. "That's a moment between the two of you. That's a precious time in your life and you don't need to talk about that. Allow yourself one thing completely to yourself. Allow Jess that moment, too."

I nod and clear my throat noisily. "The night that Jess died, the whole team went out for a drink. Like a wake I guess. And while we were there, the place got shot up and Danny got hit trying to protect Lindsay and he…"

"Ended up with temporary paralysis," she finishes for me. "It was all over the newspapers," she quickly explains.

"After that…well it was all too much, you know? Jess was murdered, I'd killed the guy who'd shot her, Danny had his legs taken away from him and I…I couldn't stand it, Breezy. All the pain that I had inside of me. The grief for Jess, the guilt for taking a life and being a vigilante and not upholding the oath I took when I'd graduated from the academy, Danny the way he was. It was all too much and I fell into old habits with the booze. The bottle was always my weakness; what I turned to when I couldn't cope."

She nods in confirmation of what I'm saying.

"And I did some things that I'm not proud of," I tell her. "I acted totally out of character and I…I handled things all wrong."

"Which means instead of talking to someone about how you were feeling, you closed yourself off and dealt with things on your own," she concludes.

I give a nod. "And part of me dealing with it was hooking up with anything and everything that showed even the slightest bit of interest in me. Being with them kept me from thinking about Jess. It kept me from thinking too much and dwelling on what had happened. And I know that's not healthy and trust me, I am kicking myself in the ass now and I wish that I could…"

All words escape me as I feel Breezy's hand on my cheek, then find my blue eyes looked with her soulful coffee brown ones as she turns my face towards her.

"It's okay, Donnie," she whispers, and presses a series of feathery kisses to my lips. "That's the past now. You made it through in one piece. We all deal with grief in different ways and it may not have been the best or the smartest way to do it, but the important thing is that you got through all of that. You survived. I don't think any less of you for it. And it doesn't change how I feel about you."

I sniffle noisily, and she uses her fingertips to clear away tears from my cheeks. I hadn't realized I'd even been crying.

"That's the past now," Breezy says. "And as long as you're okay…you know…medically speaking…"

"I'm clean," I assure her. "I've gotten the blood work done and I'm fine. Thank God."

"…well now we can go from here," she continues. "Now we can concentrate on us and you can put all of that behind you. And I don't expect you to forget about Jess. Just like I don't expect to take her place."

"She took your place," I interject. "Everyone and anyone I was with after you took your place. I don't even know why I told you all of that. Why I felt I needed to."

"Maybe it was more wanting to then needing to," Breezy says, and combs her fingers through my hair. "You're going to be okay, Donnie. One day all of this won't hurt so much anymore."

"It's starting to disappear now," I tell her, as Danny appears at the side of the car and raps his knuckles against my window. "Slowly but surely."

She pecks my lips lightly and returns to her seat as I roll down my window.

"Everything all right?" Danny asks, as he crouches down and looks at Breezy first, then me.

"We're just having a moment," I reply. "We just needed to have a little talk. About everything that went down. We're fine."

"A'right…" my best friend says. "Well I'm going to go in, find the uni and start processing. Whenever you guys are ready…"

"We'll meet you inside," I tell him, then roll the window up once more as Danny steps away from the car and journeys up the driveway before taking the front walk and climbing the stairs.

A heavy silence descends on the car as we watched him disappear into the house, and I'm wondering what Breezy is thinking as she stares out the windshield, her right hand absentmindedly fiddling with the rose gold cross she wears around her neck. I'm worried that everything I've told her as tarnished her image of me. That I've somehow disappointed her. Disgusted her even. And when the weight of my gaze becomes too much, she turns and gives me a soft smile.

"We should go inside," she says, and reaches for the handle on the door and tossed it open. "Get some stuff packed for Collin and I."

I nod, then grab her by the wrist before she can climb out of the car and yank her towards me. My free hand clasps her by the back of the neck as my lips claim hers. She gives a sigh and tunnels her fingers in my hair, keeping me in place as she deepens the kiss. One that leaves us breathless; hearts pounding and heads reeling.

"I want everything," I tell her, my nose against her forehead. "I want everything with you. I want us to be a family. I want us to get married. I want us to give Collin tons of brothers and sisters…"

She giggles at that. "Tons? I'm not that Duggard lady, you know."

"I want us to have more babies together, Breezy. I want us to raise a family together and live happily ever after. Or as close to it as we can get. I want to be your husband. I want always and forever, to death do us part and all that other crap. And it's fast and it's scary but it's not like we just met. We've loved each other for so long and we have so much history and we deserve this. We deserve to be together. I know you wanted to take things slow and that you…"

She silences me with a kiss. Then pulls back and smiles at me. "We've been going slow since we were fourteen," she says. "I'm tired of waiting and living without you, Donnie. I've done it long enough and I don't want to do it anymore."

"People will think we're crazy," I grin.

"Let them think what they want. They haven't gone through what we did. They haven't been kept apart like we have. And if they don't like it…well they don't have to be in our lives, do they."

I shake my head and press my lips to her forehead before wrapping both arms around her and pulling her tight against me.

It's time to make good on every one of those promises I'd ever made to her.

* * *

It takes Danny less than half an hour to photograph and process the master bedroom. When we'd first mounted the stairs, I'd taken a left at the top landing; instinctively heading for the room at the end of the hall that Breezy had called her own when we were teenagers. She'd laughed and snagged a hold of my hand with a "Where are you going?" and yanked me in the opposite direction. With no signs of a struggle in the room itself and nothing else in the house either missing or disturbed -to the best of her knowledge following a quick walk through- Danny's attention had been focused on the walk in closet where the incident with Phil had taken place.

Now that he and the uniform have both departed -my best friend to the lab to develop the rolls of film and fill out his corresponding paperwork and the uni to complete his own reports- the house is no longer a crime scene. And while Breezy is down the hall gathering and packing clothing and toys for Collin, I tend to cleaning up the mess in the closet. Crouched down, I methodically and tenderly return all of the items that had fallen out of the memory box to their rightful place, and I'm neither startled or even the slightest bit freaked out that she's kept articles on me from the newspaper. Breezy's always been the type of person to collect anything and everything that has even the slightest bit of sentimental value. I easily remember how, when we were seventeen and I'd been in the process of being recruited by universities to play hockey, she'd squealed and clapped her hands together excitedly when the Flushing Gazette -our bi-weekly paper- had run a small story about me. She'd cut it out, and had promptly had it laminated so it wouldn't get ruined she hung it in her school locker.

There's various photos scattered on the ground as well. A picture of us together at her grandparents' 60th wedding anniversary when we were fifteen. It was the first time -since grade eight graduation when I'd been forced to clean myself up- that I'd ever worn a suit, and Breezy had looked beautiful in a spaghetti strapped, pale yellow satin and chiffon dress that skimmed the top of her knees. Her red hair had been piled on the top of her head in a loose sweep, and tiny white and yellow flowers were scattered through her tresses. Another snapshot is of us at Liberty Island the summer we were seventeen; sitting at a picnic table with Breezy perched on my knee and my arms wrapped tightly around her waist. I'd snagged a passing tourist from Germany and had enlisted him to take the picture with one of the disposable cameras Breezy and I had bought at the gift shop. The third photo I come across is the most recent one, of Breezy alone and turned sideways in a seat at the crowded Shea Stadium. She's wearing the NYPD windbreaker I had brought along in case the weather turned chilly, and we hadn't been in the ballpark for ten minutes before she started complaining about being cold in the bubble gum pink Baby Phat t-shirt she'd chosen to wear that day. There's a Mets hat -my Mets hat- perched backwards on her head and she's beaming as she's holding a loft a Carlos Delgado bobble-head doll. I'd managed to score tickets along the first base line from one of old timers in my precinct, and surprisingly enough, it was the first time she'd ever been to a baseball game. We'd spent more time goofing around and eating a disgusting amount of junk food -and maybe doing a little making out, too- than we had watching the Mets battle the Pirates.

Smiling, I shuffle the photos neatly together and lay them in the box with the newspaper clippings, then reach for a neatly folded piece of white legal paper; my curiosity getting the better of me and forcing me to open it. It's Collin's statement of live birth, or at least a copy of it, listing off his full name, date and time -seven seventeen in the morning- that he was born, height -a decent eighteen inches- and weight -a healthy eight pounds, two ounces- the hospital Breezy had given birth at, and the doctor who'd helped her usher our son into the world. It occurs to me that until this moment, I'd never known that he was born on October 30th. Her dad had called me _after _she'd been released from the hospital, and had never told me the exact date that she'd had the baby on.

He's two and a half and there's so much that I already don't know about my son.

My eyes fall on what is written under the spaces marked **MOTHER** and **FATHER**, and my stomach turns and my heart aches at the sight of Dean's name and signature; a lawyer would have had to take the statement to the prison for the worthless piece of shit to sign. And I wonder why Breezy didn't just leave that spot on the paper blank. Why she didn't just leave the name of the father out completely as if Dean had never existed. With him in jail, she'd been a single mother to begin with, and it's not likely she ever had plans of taking Collin to see his 'father' or allowing the two of them to develop what little of a relationship they could given the circumstances.

"That's what I was looking for when Phil wandered in," Breezy says from behind me, and I feel her hand fall on my shoulder. "I wanted to take it out and then call my dad's lawyer to find out what I had to do to get Dean's name taken off of it and yours put on. I'm sure it's some kind of long legal procedure, but…"

"We'll worry about that later," I tell her, and folding the paper in two once again, attempt to lay it into the box.

"I'll take it with me," she announces, and snatches it from my hand.

I watch over my shoulder as she turns on her heel and heads towards the bed, where she's laid out two empty and open suitcases on the bed. There's a small, wheelie case propped against the night stand -Sponge Bob Square Pants, to be exact- and three tote bags filled to bursting with clothing, toys, picture books, a couple of video games, and the Lion King puzzle Collin had told me about yesterday. Breezy tucks the statement of live birth into her back pocket, then walks over to her dresser and begins yanking open drawers.

"Collin was born on Devil's Night, huh?" I comment, as I finish repacking the memory box and then standing up, carry it out into the bedroom.

She smiles and gives a nod. "Fitting, don't you think?" she laughs, as she tosses a handful of bras and underwear -looks to me like a whole lot of lace and satin barely there panties that I'll have to ask her to show me in a private fashion show- into one of the suitcases.

"My mom would definitely say that there's something so utterly perfect about a child of mine, especially a son, being born on that day," I say, and set the box on top of the dresser. "So if he was born in October, then he was conceived…"

"The weekend after Valentine's Day," she finishes for me, and removes several pair of colourful pyjamas -mostly satin, some velour, and a couple of cotton- out of the second drawer. I'm half-tempted to tell her that if I have my way, she won't be wearing a damn one of them. "When we stayed at the St. Regis."

I nod in recollection. We'd been unable to spend actual Valentine's Day together because Dean had been off and had gone ahead and made all sorts of expensive and intricate plans for the two of them. It had been hell on earth having to listen to him the following Monday morning bragging about the wild and crazy weekend he'd had with his wife. I'd never been one for 'locker room talk' and when he'd become a little too vulgar and disrespectful towards the woman he claimed to love more than life itself, I'd had to fight to prevent myself from kicking the shit out of him. Instead, I'd gotten a sick pleasure out of assigning him every crappy piece of work for an entire week.

"I wonder if it was the Jacuzzi tub incident," I say with a grin.

"Actually…" she gives a slightly embarrassed giggle. "I think it was our first night there when we ordered all that fresh fruit and the chocolate fondue and you decided to…"

"Use you as a plate," I finish. "I swear I haven't been able to look at chocolate sauce and strawberries the same way."

"I can't see a bottle of chocolate syrup or a container of strawberries and not blush," she says, and giggles in earnest.

"That weekend was…"

"Amazing," she finishes for me, and gives a long, content sigh.

I smile and running a hand over her hair, lean in to press a kiss to her temple.

"I thought we'd been careful that weekend," she says, and shuts the drawer. "Apparently something went wrong."

"Actually, in Collin's case? I think something went incredibly right. One moment of carelessness gave us our son, Breezy. He may not have been planned, but I don't think there was ever a time he was unwanted."

"I wanted him the second I found out about him," she says. "I loved him the moment that test came back positive. Of course, I didn't know it was a him at the time…"

"Did you know before he was born?" I ask, and peck her cheek before taking a seat at the end of the bed. "That the baby was going to be a boy? Did they ever tell you during an ultrasound or anything like that?"

"They actually told me at my twenty week one that he was going to be a she," Breezy replies, and laughs at the memory. "I guess it was a good thing that my mom made me hold off on decorating the nursery pink. She kept telling that you could never fully trust doctors these days, and that she'd hate for her grandson to have to be the only boy in the world with a princess bedroom. And low and behold, at the thirty-two week scan? It was quite clear that the baby was actually a boy."

"Thank God," I breathe a sigh of relief. "That last tech saved you a lifetime of therapy bills for the poor kid."

"I've got all of his ultrasound pictures in his baby book," Breezy says. "It's in his bedroom. I'll grab it before I leave and you can look through it and get copies of certain pictures if you want. I'm sure your parents would like to have some baby pictures of him."

"My mom will want a copy of every one you have," I laugh.

"In that case, I'll have to let her look through the boxes of pictures my dad has kept. You know what my parents are like. Everything is always done the old-fashioned way. I don't think they'd know what a digital camera is if it jumped up and bit them in the ass. Especially my dad. He's always been…" her voice trails off and a frown takes over her face as she spies something on top of her dresser. "Well I guess I won't need these," she comments and picks up the item in question. "Seeing as I won't be going to that stupid benefit now."

I'm on my feet and snatching the two tickets out of her hand before she can tear them in half. "I was thinking that maybe we could still go," I defend my actions. "I mean, I've got a tux at home and you did buy a dress, right?"

She nods.

"Hate to see all that money for a dress go to waste," I reason. "And I'd kill to see you all dressed up."

"But Phil…what if he…?"

"He won't show up there. Once that restraining order is in place, he won't be able to come anywhere near you. He steps within a hundred feet of you and he'll be arrested. Simple as."

"Just like you could be arrested right now?"

"The order against me is null and void, babe. Chief of Detectives left a message on my cell. That lawyer of Bianca's works damn fast. So what do you say?" I wave the tickets in front of her. "It's probably going to be boring as hell, but I'd love to see you all dolled up. And just think, me in a tux. What more can any red blooded woman want?"

She smiles at that.

"And remember Mac and Stella?"

Breezy nods.

"Well they're together now and they're going to this thing. So it's not like we'll be totally out of place if we know them. We don't have to stay the whole night or anything. And it is for charity…"

"I don't know if…"

"And it's on Phil's dime. That's the best part. I mean, three hundred a plate? Better be damn well all you can eat for three hundred a plate."

"Well…" Breezy considers it. "Bianca is already watching Collin for the weekend and you do owe me some romance after three and a half years…"

"Chocolate sauce and strawberries?" I ask hopefully, then hold the tickets above my head as she attempts to grab them from me.

"They're both hell on bed sheets," Breezy replies with a grin.

"So then I'll put a drop sheet down on the living room floor," I suggest. "And I do own a shower so it's not like you'd have to be sticky forever."

"You drive a hard, perverted bargain," she declares, and grabs a hold of the front of my shirt and yanks me down and into a long, deep kiss that leaves us both breathless.

"My bargain isn't the only thing that's hard," I say, as I nuzzle her ear with the tip of my nose. She laughs, then manages to push me backwards into the middle of the bed. And I swallow noisily as she climbs on top of me and straddles me; a knee on either side of my torso.

"I'm glad to see some things never change," she comments, and then bites her bottom lip when my hands find her ass.

"I've got a lot to show you then that you're going to be extremely happy about it," I tell her.

She drags her top teeth along the middle of her bottom lip, then leans down to capture my mouth with hers.

Something tells me we aren't going to be back at my parents within the hour like we promised.

* * *

**Huge thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and just lurking! I appreciate all of the support!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Afrozenheart412**

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**You Can't Rush Science**


	18. Your Arms Feel Like Home

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS**

**THANKS TO EVERYONE THAT IS ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVES!**

* * *

**Your Arms Feel Like Home**

"This life aint the fairy tale we both thought it would be  
But I can see your smiling face as it's staring back at me  
I know we both see these changes now  
I know we both understand somehow

There's a life inside of me  
That I can feel again  
It's the only thing that takes me  
Where I've never been  
I don't care if I lost everything that I have known  
It don't matter where I lay my head tonight  
Your arms feel like home  
They feel like home."  
Your Arms Feel Like Home, 3 Doors Down

* * *

I stand in the doorway of the bedroom I'd spent years sharing with my younger brother Chris. The baseball themed wall paper has long been stripped away, replaced with slate blue paint and white crown moulding. When I was eight, the two twin beds that had stood on opposite sides of the room and had severely cut down on space, had been replaced with solid oak bunk beds. We'd fought long and hard over the ownership of the top bunk I'd eventually beaten my brother by winning two out of three arm wrestling matches. We used to toss our pillows and comforters into the middle of the room, then we'd scoop all extra blankets from the linen closet and our sister Sam's bed, along with her pillows and the cushions off of both the couch in the living room and the one in the basement. Once we'd created what we'd felt was a suitable amount of padding on our bedroom floor, we'd take turns either jumping off the top bunk, or performing the 'death defying' stunts we'd seen the wrestlers on Saturday Night's Main Event pull off. Of course, our set up wasn't a hundred percent safe -or idiot proof or that matter- and Chris had ended up busting his left arm twice and his right femur once. Never mind all of the bumps, strains, bloody gashes, black eyes and busted teeth we'd incurred during our moronic moments. Those bunk beds, along with two dressers and desks -cracked, chipped and warped from years of abuse at our hands- have vanished, leaving behind a bronze coloured wrought iron double bed and a black dresser and armoire.

While Breezy and I had been 'preoccupied' at her house, my old man had run out to the Wal-Mart twenty minutes away and had bought two guardrails that he'd promptly attached to the right side of the bed. Effectively keeping Collin from tumbling out in the middle of the night if he's blocked in on the other side by his mommy's body. And all of those memories of my childhood and subsequent early teen years -once I'd started dating Breezy, I'd kicked Chris into the basement because I figured with my burgeoning sex life, I'd need all the privacy I could get- are replaced by the sheer awe and love I feel as I watch the scene playing out in front of me. Breezy -her hair still damp from a shower and twisted into a sloppy bun held together by bobby pins- is lying on her left side, facing the door as she props herself on her elbow and reads a story to our son. I can see why her students love her so much. Her voice, while full of exuberance and intonation, is calm and soothing. Collin, in what I've been told as his favourite Cars pyjamas, lies on his right side, facing her. His eyes are riveted on his mommy's face and the thumb of his right hand is firmly planted in his mouth as the fingers of his left play with the cross and chain around Breezy's neck.

It's a beautiful, pure moment to witness; the depth of love I feel for my son and his mother is astounding. Breezy and I have created something so incredible, and we're quickly putting things in motion for us to become a real family. On the way back from her parents place, after we didn't have sex but she'd managed to reap the rewards of a heavy make out session, we'd briefly discussed the next logical step: moving in together. It isn't set in stone, but our plan at the moment is to be living together by the end of the summer. I have a two-bedroom apartment, and I can easily clear out the spare room currently being used for storage so that Collin can have his own bedroom. Marriage is also on both of our minds. Even though to outsides it most likely seems way too soon to even be thinking about it, we're taking our history into consideration. We're not a couple that has just met and planning on jumping blindly into a serious commitment. We've been in love since we were fourteen, and had our original plans back then panned out, we already would have been married for nearly fifteen years.

Breezy and I belong together. As husband and wife. Collin deserves to have his mommy and daddy with him under the same roof. And as I stand in the doorway, a hand on either side of the frame, emotion tugs at my chest and a soft smile curves my lips as I observe mother and child. My family.

"I'll love you forever," Breezy's eyes never leave Collin's face as she recites the final page in the book from memory. "I'll like you for always. As long as I'm living, my…" she halts, eyebrows arched as she stares at him pointedly, patiently waiting for him to continue.

There's an audible pop as Collin removes his thumb from his mouth, and in a tiny, sleepy voice, he finishes his mother's sentence. "…mommy you'll be."

Breezy gives a proud smile, then flips the book closed and presses a kiss to our son's forehead. I can't explain what I see in her eyes when she gazes upon the child that we'd made together. Adoration, love, awe; her face speaks volumes about how much she cares for Collin.

"Now it's time for all little boys and girls everywhere to go to sleep," she tells him, and tucks the book under Collin's pillows before picking up the baby blue polar fleece blanket -with fluffy white clouds and brilliant yellow suns- that rests atop our son's feet and laying it over his arms. "Time to sleep baby boy and dream about all kinds of beautiful things. About fairies and elves and brave knights in shining armour."

"Night-nights for everybody," Collin says, then grabs a hold of his blanket and commences brushing the satin edge -which is tattered and discoloured- against his nose and forehead. "Sweepy, mum-mum," he yawns around his thumb. "Loves you lots."

"Me loves you more," she declares, causing him to giggle before she pecks his forehead. And then, stroking his hair, she begins to sing quietly. The same song she'd once told me her mother would serenade her with when she was a little girl. "Can't you see that I love you, please don't break my heart in two, 'cause I'm not made of wood, and I don't have a wooden heart. There's no strings upon this love of mine, it was always you from the start. Treat me nice, treat me good, treat me like you really should. 'Cause I'm not made of wood, and I don't have a wooden heart."

Her voice trails off, and as she reaches down to pull the comforter up over both her body and Collin's, I notice that while he's still caressing his face with the corner of his blanket -the one with the soul in it- his eyes are closed and his breathing is starting to shallow.

"Is it always that easy?" I ask, my voice just a notch above a whisper as I step into the room.

"He used to be a tyrant when it came to night-nights," Breezy replies, giving me a tired smile as I approach the bed. "He went through some horrific bedtime rebellion when he first made the move from his crib to his toddler bed. I guess because he could get out of it so easily, he didn't want to stay where he was. If you sat in the living room, you could actually hear him shuffling around his room. And then he'd always give the old, 'but mum-mum, I'm thirsty' when I'd catch him playing with his toys at two in the morning."

"Tell my mom that and she'll tell you that that sounds very familiar."

"I guess it takes one hellion to know another," she teases, as I lean over the bed and press a soft kiss to her temple. "Maybe I'll compare birth stories with her. See if she can come close to my twenty-three hours of back labour, three hours of pushing and fifteen stitches."

"I was the easiest one out of all three," I proudly declare. "Her water broke at four in the morning, I was born at six. They didn't even get her up to the labour and delivery ward. Had me in the ER on a gurney just behind the reception desk."

"I guess you made up for it when you hit thirteen and became a total shit," Breezy says, and gives me a wink.

"Well maybe next time, you'll have the speedy delivery," I muse, as I journey over to the bedroom window and close the wooden blinds. "Few pushes and that's it."

"Not bloody likely," she grumbles, and then hides a yawn behind the back of her left hand. "Are you staying over or…"

"My mom's already made Sam's old room up for me," I tell her. I'm not being presumptuous and just assuming that I'm welcome to stay in there with Breezy and Collin. That she's comfortable with us sharing a bed, even if our two and a half year old son is in between us. Truth be told, I hate the idea of being down the hall from them. It seems as if I've spent an eternity away from her, that even twenty feet seems like a million miles, and I don't want to miss any more moments in her, or Collin's, life.

"Oh…" Disappoint registers on her face. "Okay…well, I guess…"

"I've got to leave pretty early tomorrow," I tell her. "I've got to be at work for eight and I'll have to stop at my place first and get dressed and all of that before I head in, so I'll probably be out the door before you even wake up."

She gives a little nod, her lips set in a tight line as she combs her fingers through Collin's hair.

"I'll call you once I know for sure Phil's in custody," I say. "I'm thinking they're going to wait until he's at work to nail him. Embarrass him in front of as many people as possible. Asshole deserves a lot worse, but…"

"He's only going to get out of jail quicker than it takes to put him in there," she sighs. "He has money, Donnie. And connections. And those connections have even _more_ money."

"Doesn't matter how much money he has and who he knows, he's going to be arrested and hauled down to Central Booking regardless. I don't care how long he's there for. An hour, ten hours, ten minutes. That's not the point. The point is that he's held accountable for what he did and everyone around him knows what a fucker he is. And once he is out, he still can't come anywhere near you. That's what the restraining order is for."

"I think you've already proven a couple times today just how useless those things really are," Breezy says.

"That restraining order was a bunch of shit. I'm not a threat to you or Collin. He's a legit threat. And I'm going to make sure that he doesn't hurt you ever again. He messed you up, Breezy. Look what he did to you. Look what he did to Collin. Our son. That's not okay. At all. And he needs to pay the fucking price."

"A shovel to the back of his head and a dark place where no one will ever find his body is what I consider paying a price," she snorts.

I can't help but grin at that. "I thought I was supposed to be the proponent of inflicting bodily harm and you were supposed to be the one that practiced the 'turning the other cheek' shit your daddy's been drilling into your head since you were old enough to talk."

"My daddy will want to slaughter Phil with his bare hands," she says with a dry laugh. "He never liked him in the first place."

"I can't imagine why. Phil's just so charming and sweet. I can't imagine why your dad didn't warm up to him right away. Didn't Phil show up at the door with some kind of 'please welcome me into the fold' present? Like a box of holy wafers or a bible signed by Pope Benedict himself? Or maybe a towel that Phil wiped his face with and when he looked at it he realized an imprint of Jesus' face had been left behind?"

Breezy's lips twitch with amusement. "My father is not that bad," she declares.

"I guess I should just be thankful that your family isn't into Scientology or that weird ass, Quiver-whatever that the broad with all the kids is into."

"Quiverfill!" Breezy laughs as quietly as possible. "They believe that God opens the womb and then closes it again when you're finished having babies."

"Quiverfill, huh? Well I've got another word for that. For people like that. Wanna hear it?"

She tips her head back and looks up at me as I stand alongside the bed.

"Wackadoos," I tell her, and bend down to press a soft kiss to her lips.

"To each their own," she says. "I'm in no place to judge what other people practice or preach."

"Considering you didn't exactly practice what your daddy's been preaching since you were a baby," I nod in Collin's direction. "I know I'm a lapsed Catholic, but I'm pretty sure we busted about ten different rules in the Big Catholic Guide for Dummies."

She gives a slight smile. "Goodnight, Donald," she says, and pecks the underside of my chin.

"Goodnight, Bree-Anne," I kiss her softly, then press my lips against her forehead and graze the knuckles of my left hand along the side of her face. "Get some sleep, okay? It's been a long day."

She nods, then turns her face into my hand and kisses my palm. "We have to tell him tomorrow," she says, casting a glance down at Collin. "For sure."

"For sure," I promise, and lean over the bed to drop a kiss onto my boy's head. A smile curving my mouth when he mumbles in his sleep and his nose twitches.

"My mom calls him Wascly Wabbit when he does that," Breezy giggles. Then she presses her lips against Collin's forehead and she quickly grows serious once again. "My parents have been so good to him, Donnie."

"I know," I say, and kiss her temple. "Get some rest, baby," I encourage, then tuck the comforter securely around her slender body and turn to flick off the bedside lamp.

"What are we going to tell him?" she inquires, sounding anxious and worried. "Are we going to tell him the whole truth? That I'd been married to one person but I was in love with you and that you're his real daddy and not my ex husband? That I lied to everyone; to him, to our parents, to you, to…"

I silence her with a kiss. "We tell him that I'm his forever daddy and that I couldn't find either of you for a long time. But that I'm here now and I'm not going anywhere. That I love him. And his mommy."

Breezy rolls over onto her back and smiles up at me in the moonlight. "I love you too," she whispers, and then giggles against my lips when I kiss her yet again. "And this…" she says, and pecks my mouth. "I can't get enough of this."

"Me either," I agree. "But we do have almost four years to make up for."

She gives a dramatic sigh. "That's a long time," she declares.

"A very long time," I concur.

"That's a lot of kissing to make up for," she gives a devilish grin. "Among other things. If you're a good boy…" she hooks a finger around my chain as it tumbles out of my t-shirt. The same chain she'd given me for Valentines Day. The same weekend out son was conceived. "…well if you're a good boy, maybe we can start catching up on lost time on Saturday night."

I smile, and allow her to yank me down into another kiss. "I'll see you tomorrow," I say, lips against her forehead. "I'll call you, okay?"

She nods, then settles her head back against her pillow. "You know, the last time that I'd slept in this room, we were eighteen and the bunk beds were still in here and you thought it would be funny if we tried having sex on the top bunk."

"Until I smacked the top of my head off of the ceiling when things got a little too…_wild_."

She laughs, then smothers the sound with her hand when Collin moans in his sleep and flops over onto his stomach. The corner of his blanket clamped between his teeth. "You know what the funniest part was?" she whispers. "Other than that?"

"When we fell off the top bunk and landed on the floor? Or should I say I ended up on the floor and cushioned your landing?"

"Well that too," her eyes sparkle in the silvery rays of moonlight that sneak through the bottom of the blinds. "It was the fact that you were already six feet tall at that point and you didn't even fit on the bed. Your legs were hanging clear off."

"You've got a warped sense of humour," I tell her, grinning at the memory. "Seriously, babe. Get some sleep. It's been a hell of a day."

She nods, then closes her eyes. I stand at the side of the bed for a moment, in awe at the ethereal glow that the moons rays cast on her pale skin, and then reach out to run the back of my hand along her cheek before finally turning and heading for the door.

"Donnie?" Breezy softly calls to me.

I pause in the doorway.

"Please stay," she whispers. "Collin and I…we want you to stay. We _need _you to stay."

* * *

I fight off the broad, pleased grin that is threatening to take over my face, then turn towards the door and close it softly. In the faint light, I can see Breezy watching me intently as I peel off my t-shirt and toss it onto the top of the dresser. After the bombing that had not only ripped my stomach apart but had almost claimed my life, she'd been the first -and up until Devon, the only- woman I'd ever had the courage to take my shirt off in front of. The thick, jagged scar along my lower left abdomen isn't exactly pleasant to look at, neither are the smaller patches of puckered skin that mar my chest and shoulders. And when I'd hesitated about undressing in front of her that very first time we'd ever been intimate during our affair, Breezy had assured me that the scars didn't bother her. More so with actions than actual words. Her eyes had never once left mine as she slid her hands up the front of my wife beater and explored every inch of my stomach and chest. Gentle fingers had slowly and lovely traced each scar, and she'd given me a soft, understanding smile when she'd gently tugged the bottom of my undershirt up ever so slightly.

"It kind of bothers me," I'd told her; the most massive understatement I'd ever uttered in my life. And I'd reluctantly pulled off the wife beater and had immediately wanted to cover myself back up again when her eyes had immediately flickered down to my stomach. If she'd been shocked, she hadn't showed it. Instead, she'd glided the pad of her index finger over the imperfection, then had run both of her palms up my chest.

"You mean this old thing?" she'd asked, a traced the faint scar on my left shoulder that was a souvenir from busting my collarbone during a hockey game in grade twelve. "I was the one that was there when you got hurt, remember? Did you really think that silly old thing would bother me? If it didn't bother me when I was eighteen, why would it bother me now?"

"You're thinking about that first night we were together," she easily reads my mind, then looks away as I unbuckled my belt and snap open the button on my jeans.

"Suddenly you're shy?" I ask, as I slide down the zipper. "How many times have you seen me naked?"

"Many, many, many glorious times," she says with a long, content sigh. "And each and every time I was able to…you know…do something with the unwrapped package and right now…"

"Maybe we should have let him sleep with papa and nanny when he'd wanted to," I tease, and toss my jeans on the dresser as well. "And I've got boxers on, babe. I don't go commando, you know that."

"Snoopy boxers?" she asks, then giggles.

"That was one time when we were seventeen and you'd bought them for me," I remind her, as I

"One time when we were seventeen and another when we were both thirty," Breezy argues, pushing the comforter off of her as I approach the bed. "They were meant as a gag gift. Not for you to actually put on. Twice. I nearly died when you busted them out on me thirteen years _after_ I'd given them to you."

"What can I say?" I ask, as I climb over the guardrail and slip into bed behind Collin. "I'm a sentimental bastard."

She rolls her eyes and I yank the comforter up to my chin, covering her and our son entirely.

"Now this is kind of weird," I declare, as I settle the side of my head against Collin's pillow.

"What's that? Sharing a bed with a woman and not being able to get naked with them?"

"Well that too…but I was thinking more along the lines of sharing a bed with you again after a freaking eternity, and with our son. And having to share a Dumbo pillow with him."

"It's Lumpy," Breezy corrects, as she rolls onto her side to face me. "You know…from Pooh's Huffalump Movie."

I stare at her, eyebrows arched.

" Winnie the Pooh," she informs me with an exasperated sigh.

"Musta missed that one," I grin.

"Oh yeah…I forgot…unless there's a car chase scene, shit getting blown up and soft core porn, you're not interested," she teases.

"Hey!" I object, then grin when she stares at me, waiting for something else. "It's hardcore porn," I correct.

She chuckles, then clasps a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound, which in turn only causes her to snort loudly.

"Now that's real girlie," I chide, as she turns her face into her pillow to laugh in earnest. One thing I'd learned quick about Breezy? She gets uncontrollably giddy when she's tired.

Collin flops over onto his back with a loud groan and his eyes flicker open; a haze of sleep shrouding them.

"Go back to sleep, buddy," I whisper, and press a kiss to his forehead. "Mommy's just being weird."

"Bad mum-mum. Noisy mum-mum," he mutters, then moves onto his side and snuggles into my chest. "You're warm, Donnie," he informs me sleepily. "And nice and fuzzy too."

Breezy rolls over onto her stomach, the sound of her laughter hidden in her pillow as her body shakes in mirth

"Go to sleep," I grumble, and reach over Collin to lay a hand on the back of her neck.

She lifts her head from the pillow and smiles at me. "I want more of this," she whispers.

"So do I," I tell her, and run my hand along the side of her face. "I missed you so much, baby. I love you. I never stopped loving you. I never will."

"Ditto," she says, then gives me a wink before closing her eyes and capturing my hand in hers, our fingers entwining on her pillow.

I stare at her for what seems like an eternity. Watching her intently as she quickly drifts off to sleep. Mesmerized at the realization that after so many long and lonely nights of wonder what if, that she's actually right in front of me.

This is the first night of many on our new journey together.

In our new life.

* * *

"You get a good sleep last night or what?" Danny asks me, as he slips into the front passenger seat of my squad car at nine thirty the next morning and spots the steaming cups of take out coffee in the holders between our seats.

I've been unable to erase the goofy smile that has inhabited my face since falling asleep with my son and the love of my life the night before. I'd actually managed to clock nearly ten hours of restful, content sleep and I've never felt better. Things are finally going right. My personal life is finally back on track, my demons, while still linger in the darkest recesses of my brain, are cutting me some slack, and the weight of my gun on my hip and the badge on the waist of my jeans makes me feel superhuman. I've got a purpose once again. Something to live for. Someone, actually. Two people that I love wholly and unconditionally and who love me in return. As is. Who don't care about the chinks in my armour or the skeletons in my closet; the only thing that matters to them is that I come home safe at the end of the day.

If it hadn't have been for the perverse sense of satisfaction I'll get from watching Phil had cuffs slapped on his wrists, I would have called in sick when the alarm went off on my cell phone. I'd wanted nothing more than to stay buried under the covers, listening to Breezy and Collin's soft, soothing breathing and feeling the warmth of their bodies as the three of us cuddled together in that cramped double bed. I'd honestly never been so damn comfortable in my entire life; and when I'd felt my son stirring alongside of me and I'd heard him issue a soft sigh, I'd opened my eyes and found myself staring into baby blues that matched my own.

"I'm 'ungy, Donnie," he'd whispered. "Really, really 'ungy."

So we'd gone down to the kitchen and my little man -with his black hair sticking up in every possible direction- and I had had breakfast together. Glasses of orange juice , toast with peanut butter, and bowls of the Cheerios that Breezy had brought from her house. I'd skipped out on using the high chair, opting to let Collin kneel on a chair beside me as I read him the comics section from my dad's morning newspaper.

It had seriously been the best half hour of my entire life. Just the two of us, bonding over the comics and a simple breakfast.

"I slept amazing," I confirm, as Danny buckles his seat belt.

"Starbucks," he observes, as he plucks his coffee out from the holder and folding back the tab on his lid, takes a sip. "For you to be shelling out the big bucks, you must have gotten laid. Several times."

"I didn't get laid," I tell him. "I just slept really, really, really good."

"No sex at all?" he asks, eyebrows arched.

I shake my head and remove my sunglasses from their resting spot; hooked on the neck of my black t-shirt.

"Slacker," Danny snorts. "Hot chick at your disposal and you don't jump on her?"

"Hey…she may be a hot chick, but she's the mother of my kid," I remind him. "Show some damn respect, a'right?"

Danny holds his hands up in surrender. "So you're back in the saddle, huh?" he glances down at my gun as I put my squad in drive and pull away from the curb. "Armed and dangerous?"

"Restraining order got lifted last night," I answer.

"That's good news," my best friend says. "Now I got a little of my own."

"What's that?" I ask, as he lifts his ass out of his seat and removes a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of his jeans. "Ran the swab last night and when I got in this morning, I had a result waiting for me. Don't worry. There was no full names on the request. Just initials."

"I already know he's my kid, Danno. There's no question about that."

"You are about that?" he asks, and I frown and cast a glance over at him. "I'm just kidding," he chuckles. "Take it easy, Flack. You wanna hear the results anyway? Just for shits and giggles?"

"Hit me," I say.

Danny clears his throat and unfolds the paper. "In the case of two and a half year old Collin," he begins, in a nearly bang on impression of Maury Povich. "Donald Flack Junior…you _are _the father."

"Like there was a doubt," I say.

"To the tune of 99.9998 percent if you want to get really technical about it," Danny adds. "We need to stop at a smoke shop. Get some 'It's a Boy' cigars for you to pass around. So what's the deal with you and Bree-Anne?" he asks, and swigs his coffee. "You guys back together or what?"

"We're making some plans," I reply.

"Like what?"

"We're going to move in together before the end of the summer," I tell my best friend. "And we hope to be engaged before Christmas and married before the end of the year."

"Just yesterday you said you were a work in progress and now you're making plans to shack up together and get married?"

"I've wasted nearly four years of my life, Danny. I don't want to waste anymore time. We know what we want. We've got all of this amazing history together and it just seems…it just seems right. We were ready for all of that when things went down the shitter. And we're ready for it now. We just want to be together."

"If you love something set it free," Danny muses. "If it comes back, it's yours. If it doesn't, it never was."

"Nice Hallmark card moment, Messer," I smirk.

"Just stating the truth," he says with a shrug. "You won't hear any objections from me, Flack. I know how much you love her. How much you've always loved her, and if this is what you guys want? Well if this is what you guys want, then I'll be the first guy helping you move boxes into your new place and I'll be standing next to you when you say I do," Danny pauses, swallows a mouthful of coffee and adds, "If you want me to be that is."

"Without a doubt," I tell him. "There's no one else I'd even consider. You're my boy, Danny. Regardless of the past year and everything that's happened."

"Stop, a'right? Stop before you get me all emotional. And I don't do emotional. Even for you."

A companionable silence falls over us as we continue the drive to the looming glass and metal skyscraper that is home to Phil and his lucrative business, along with hundreds of other companies, and I park in one of the emergency vehicle spots out front and we join my cousin as he waits by the front doors.

"So I was thinking," Danny finally speaks again after we've taken the elevator forty-two floors and step off. "Well, Linds was thinking actually…"

"That's more like it," I tease.

Danny frowns. "She was thinking that maybe you and Bree-Anne can bring Collin over next weekend. We can all hang out, maybe got to Central Park, let the kids play together. Grab some lunch. Make a day of it."

"Sounds like a plan," I say, my heart hammering in my chest the closer we get to Phil's firm. There's always something so exhilarating about going after the bad guy, and the fact that the perp we're about to bring down laid a hand on Breezy and my kid makes it even more exciting. "I don't see why Breezy would have a problem with it. I think her and Linds will get along great."

"Besties in no time," Danny declares. "Linds couldn't stop talking about her and Collin when I got in last night and she…"

His voice trails off, and his hand suddenly falls on my forearm and he comes to a dead stop in the middle of the hallway.

"What?" I ask. "What's the…"

"What the fuck kind of shit is this?" Danny hisses, and I turn my attention to what he's looking at. Who, to be more precise. Phil, in his thousand dollar suit and Italian silk tie, chatting amicably a couple of feet before the doors to his business. Judging by the company he's keeping, it's safe to say that he's only a couple people removed from the devil, and as my eyes widen in disbelief and my jaw clenches, Danny utters the true name of Satan as he stands mere feet from us.

"_Robert Dunbrook."_

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**1. The book that Breezy was reading to Collin: 'Love You Forever' by Robert Munsch **

**2. The song she was singing to him: 'Wooden Heart' by Elvis Presley**

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and just plain lurking! I am humbled by the support!**

**Special thanks to:**

**CSINYMinute**

**Afrozenheart412**

**ParaCaerOuVoar**

**Andorian Ice Princess- AIP**

**xSamilciousx**

**Forest Angel**

**Soccer-bitch**

**wolfeylady**

**Dreamer Child 88**

**X3sunnydaay**

**Blue Eyed Author**


	19. Her Diamonds

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS.**

**THANKS TO EVERYONE THAT IS ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVES!**

**THE START OF THIS CHAPTER IS RATED A MILD M. IF SLIGHT SEX OFFENDS YOU, FEEL FREE TO SKIP AHEAD!**

* * *

**Her Diamonds**

"Oh what the hell she says  
I just can't win for losing  
And she lays back down

Man there's so many times  
I don't know what I'm doin'  
Like I don't know now

By the light of the moon, she rubs her eyes  
Says it's funny how the night can make you blind  
I can just imagine

And I don't know what I'm supposed to do  
But if she feels bad then I do too  
So I let her be

And she says ooh I can't take no more  
Her tears like diamonds on the floor  
And her diamonds bring me down  
Cause I can't help her now

She's down in it  
She tried her best but now she can't win  
It's hard to see them on the ground  
Her diamonds falling down, way down."  
-Her Diamonds, Rob Thomas

* * *

_**Breezy's POV**_

Every inch of my body aches; want and need overpowering both common sense and will power.

It's been four years since I've been this desperate. Since every nerve throbs with an exquisite sensation that borders on pain, a mixture of agony and intense and surreal pleasure that makes my head spin. I've spent many a night fantasising about the rough, calloused hands that explore my body and the warm moist lips that go from soft and sensuous, to hard and demanding in the blink of an eye. My past experiences at the mercy of those capable and unselfish fingers serving me well while spending my nights with a man who knew nothing about how to please a woman. Who was so conceited and sure of his own skills -lack there of, if I wanted to be that cruel- that he took every moan, sigh and whimper that escaped my lips as sign that I was actually getting off by what he was doing. There was no way he could have known that every time we were together, I'd spent every second thinking about another man. Or that I'd had to, on several occasions, stop myself from saying -or should I say screaming- the wrong name during the height of passion. My memories so vivid that it was simple to lose myself in them and completely forget where I was and whom I was with.

And now…well now the delicious fodder for both less than stellar intimate relations with Phil and the much more pleasure moments of self-gratification, have become a smouldering, earth shaking reality.

I groan in protest as the kiss comes to an abrupt halt, then sigh and feel my entire body shudder as Donnie's greedy lips descend on the side of my neck. Teeth graze against my pale, sensitive skin and the tip of his tongue trails slowly and tantalizingly path across my collarbone, and my eyes close and my head tips back as he suckles hungrily on the hallow of my throat. The fingers of both my hands tunnel in his short, dark hair; gripping tightly and drawing a low groan from deep inside his body and he stumbles slightly, effectively trapping me between that strong, powerful body and the wall behind me. Yanking his head upwards, it's my turn to capture his mouth with my own; my tongue aggressively and insistently pushes its way through his lips, meets little resistance at his teeth and successfully seeks out his. I scrap my nails down the back of his neck and then over the thin fabric of his wife beater and across his broad, smooth shoulders. His crisp white dress shirt lies in a puddle nearby, and our shoes, his suit jacket and tie leave a trail from the front door of his apartment to the middle of the kitchen floor.

Our chests are heaving from both anticipation and excitement and while breathless from our hot and heavy make out session, we're both unwillingly to break out of the kiss. My hands continue their exploration; revelling in the texture of his skin and the way the muscles of his shoulders and arms move under my touch. I want to touch and taste every possible inch of him. To both re-discover and experience the changes in his physique and to dwell in awe of the realization that something that I'd never thought could possibly get any better, has far surpassed all expectations.

"We shouldn't be doing this," I mutter, as the one long, sensuous kiss breaks off into a series of smaller pecks. His lips and tongue bear the faint trace of whiskey and his skin is hot to the touch, and his eyes are dark and full of overwhelming want and need. There are a million and one reasons to why I should be putting a stop to our activities. On the top of that list is the fact that it is just way too soon to hopping into bed with one another. We've just began our relationship and sex should be the last thing on our minds. We should be taking things slow, enjoying the romance of a courtship and getting to know each other all over again.

"You'd stop me if you really wanted to," Donnie says, giving me a devilish grin before dipping his head and placing a trail of kisses along the scalloped neckline of my royal blue evening gown.

Truth is, I don't want him to stop. Not when I've wanted him with every fibre of my being for what seems like an eternity, and I draw in a deep breath and release it slowly as his tongue skims across the top of my heaving breasts. My eyes close once again and I issue a long, drawn out sigh when his hands slip between my body and the cupboards and they grip my ass tightly, causing the fabric of my dress to rustle noisily as he yanks me into him. It's evident, as I press my pelvis into his, that he's nowhere near wanting to stop either. And I shudder as his tongue travels along my neck and up to my ear.

"Let's get these things out of there," he whispers raggedly, and one of his hands quickly and effortlessly yanks one crystal pin out of my hair, then the other. Allowing my red tresses to cascade over my shoulders and down my back. He's always had a 'thing' with my hair being down during intimate moments. He finds the contrast of the red on my pale skin incredibly sexy, and it turns him on considerably to not only run his fingers through my hair and twist it around his fingers, but to feel it brushing sinuously against his naked body.

He tosses the pins onto the floor with a clatter, and his lips are on my throat once again as the hand that was still grasping my ass moves up my back, his fingertips finding the zipper on my dress and hurriedly yanking it down. As the garment puddles at my feet, a rush of cold air assaults my body, and my nipples, already erect and demanding attention, become painfully hard.

"You're so beautiful," Donnie's breath is warm against my skin, as one hand moves to the top of my left thigh to release the sheer stocking from my garter belt and the fingertips of the other graze across my shoulder and over the top of my right breast. And he pulls back slightly and stares at me intently, satisfied with watching the changes that come over my face as my entire body shudders when he circles my nipple with a the tip of his index finger. "I missed you so much…I missed _this_…"

I gasp as the hand that had been on my thigh slides between my legs and his palm comes to rest against the already sodden crotch of my panties. It's been so long since I've had him this close, since I've smelled him tasted him and felt his touch that the second his thumb circles my clit through the lace I gasp and bite down hard on my bottom lip. Then give a sheepish smile when he flashes me a grin.

"Don't you think you deserve that after all of this time?" he asks, and I almost unravel completely when his hand slips down the front of my panties and his fingers travel the length of my moist opening.

"I think we both deserve a lot of things," I reply, and reach between us to unbuckle his belt, pop the button on his pants and yank down the zipper. "Don't you?" I ask, as I push my hand through the opening of his boxers and enclose his rock hard cock in my greedy hand.

He gives a guttural groan and unceremoniously shoves two fingers inside of me, curls them towards my g-stop -something I'd always thought was a completely myth until he'd proved me completely and blessedly wrong- and then strokes vigorously. A comeuppance maybe? For all the years we've spent apart and the sleepless nights we've suffered through? Because all it takes it that stimulation and one flick at my clit with the pad of his thumb and I lose it. The orgasm hits me fast and hard, and his name escapes me in a scream of unbridled passion and my one hand tightens agonizingly around his erection as the nails of the other dig into his forearm. And before I have a chance to catch my breath or recuperate, I feel him quickly remove his fingers from inside of me, yank my hand of his cock and grab a hold of my hips. I give a small shriek as I find myself hoisted off of my feet, and he seizes my mouth in a hungry kiss and my legs curl around his waist and my arms circle his neck as he stumbles across the room; steps hampered by the pants that are currently twisted around his ankles.

Donnie mutters a curse against my lips as he kicks away the offending object, and when I hear a loud clatter, I open my eyes and break out of the kiss; a glance over my shoulder confirming that he's swept every object off of the table and onto the floor.

I gasp as my back makes contact with cold, smooth wood, and then watch through lust shrouded eyes as he grabs a hold of my hips and yanks me towards him so that my ass teeters on the edge of the table. I spread my legs in anticipation _and _invitation, and our eyes met and lock as he stands between my thighs, taking hold of them as he presses into me. And as he fills me completely, his name once more erupts from my lips and I…

* * *

"Bree-Anne?" Pat's alarmed voice calls out to me from the hallway as she pounds her fist against the bedroom door. "Bree-Anne! Are you okay?! Is something wrong?!"

My eyes snap open and I bolt up into a sitting position. Horrified by not only the realization that Donnie's mother has busted me in the middle of a dirty dream about her son, but that my hand is actually down the front of my pyjama pants. That the orgasm that I'd had in my dream hadn't been a figment of my imagination; it had actually happened. Frowning at my actions -and mentally cursing the woman out for interrupting me at such a crucial moment in my dream- I notice that not only is my chest heaving and there's sweat beading on my forehead and rolling down my back, but there's a distinct cramping in the bottom of my feet and a trickling sensation between my legs.

"Bree-Anne!" Pat continues to slam her hand against the door. "What is wrong? Are you okay?"

_Not really, _I think, as I lift my hair off of the back of my neck and fan myself with my hand. _I'm nearly thirty-five and I'm masturbating in my sleep as I dream about your son. That's about as far from okay as you can get. _

"I'm fine," I finally respond. "I'm just a little…_freaked out_."

"Bad dream?" she asks.

Not really, I muse, and fight off a fit of the giggles. "A nightmare," I reply. "I'm sorry if I startled you." _You'd be horrified if you knew what a mess I've made of your sheets while fantasizing about your son._

"Just concerned," Pat corrects gently. "After everything that you went through yesterday I'm not surprised that you're having bad dreams. As long as you're okay…"

"Peachy!" I cheerfully assure her.

"If you're ready to get up, I've put some fresh towels in the main bathroom for you and there's shampoo and soap already in the shower. Collin's already gone ahead and had breakfast with his grand-dad and I. His _second_ breakfast, actually."

I smile at that; I'd briefly been awakened by the sounds of Donnie and Collin whispering to each other during the wee hours of the morning. When I'd cracked my eyes open, I'd seen the two of them practically nose to nose, a broad smile curving Donnie's lips as Collin listed off all of the items that he wanted for breakfast. And before they'd discovered I was actually awake, I'd clamped my eyes shut again and listened to the rustling of sheets as they climbed out of bed, so careful not to wake me as they headed for the door. And when I'd peeked over, I'd seen them slip from the room, Collin with one arm around Donnie's neck and blankie clasped tightly in his other hand as the man he didn't even know was his daddy carried him in his strong, protective and loving arms.

"Quite the appetite that kid," Pat chuckles. "He'll eat you out of house and home when he's a teenager. Grow up big and strong like his daddy."

"Handsome like him too, I hope," I say.

"Well I don't think you have to worry about that. He's absolutely beautiful and precious. You must be so proud of him, Bree-Anne. He's such a darling."

"Thank you," I smile. "He's…well he's my little man."

"And he knows it too. Loves his mommy, that's for sure. There's nothing he wouldn't do for you. And he's just shy of three! He reminds me so much of Donnie. And I don't mean just the looks. I look at Collin across the table and I listen to him and it's like…well it's like going back thirty-two years and seeing my own son. You have no idea how happy we are that the two of you are here. I'm just sorry that I never…well I'm just sorry."

"So am I," I say. "I just hope one day you can forgive me for what I did."

"Oh honey…that day has already come and gone," Pat assures me. "Would you like anything for breakfast? I can whip something up. One of Donnie's mommy's famous egg sandwiches? I remember how much you used to love those."

"Hundred times better than McDonalds," I declare, and rub my stomach as it rumbles noisily. "I'd love one…two actually…"

"Mama will fatten you up," she laughs, and I hear her footsteps on the hardwood floor as she moves away from the door. "You're way too thin girl! You need to put some meat on those bones. When you dated Donnie as a teen, you were just perfect."

"I was chubby," I argue. "Double digits."

"You were adorable," Pat corrects. "Not that you aren't now…but now you're just…older…more mature…you're not that little girl anymore. You're a mommy. And that title makes you even more stunning than you already are."

I smile to myself, then cast a glance towards the clock on the nightstand as I hear Pat head back downstairs. It's quarter after nine in the morning. I can't remember the last time I've slept past seven. Collin's always been an early riser. Whether he had ten hours of sleep or five. As soon as daylight begins to creep over the horizon, he's up and ready and raring to go. Another trait he's somehow managed to pick up from his father.

Raking my hands through my messy hair, I push the covers off of my body and issue a loud yawn as I stretch languorously. I need a hot shower -or maybe I should take a cold one considering the flutters that still inhabit my stomach?- and to get some makeup on my face and some proper clothes onto my body. I can't let the aches and pains that plague me get me down. I'm determined that I'm not going to dwell on what Phil did to me yesterday. That I'm going to let the law take care of things from here on out. That I'm going to trust Donnie to do the right thing; to not react badly when Phil is placed into custody.

Although I don't _entirely_ object to the idea of him laying an ass kicking on the sonofabitch.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, my feet touch the cold wood as I stand up and head towards the window. I use my index finger to press down on one of the blinds, creating a small space for me to look through. Despite the threat of rain the night before, we hadn't been assaulted by any downpours or thundershowers, and the sun is shining brilliantly in a vivid blue sky. The start of another beautiful, although disgustingly hot day in New York City.

My cell phone, sitting on top of the dresser, rings noisily and I hurry to answer it. Practically skipping across the room like a giddy high school girl anxious to hear from her boyfriend. It's pathetic really, to be acting this way at my age. To be excited over a simple phone call and to be letting a dirty dream work me up as bad as it had. But I honestly can't help it. I had long ago convinced myself that that ship had sailed, that the only thing I'd ever have of him were memories. And now that he's back in my life…well there's no way I'm ever letting him back out.

Scooping up my phone, I snap it open without bothering to check the caller id and place it to my ear.

"Is it wrong that I'm this excited to hear from you?" I giggle, plopping down onto the edge of the bed. A frown quickly covering my face when I receive no response; the sound of breathing resonating in my ear. "Hello?" I ask. "Donnie?"

"Bree-Anne," a deep, authoritative voice finally pipes up. "This is Robert…Robert Dunbrook…"

_Fuck, shit!_ I inwardly curse. Dreading the reaction I'm going to get for my little blunder. I've got nothing against Phil's godfather. In the handful of times that I've been in his company, Robert Dunbrook's been warm and welcoming and exceptionally polite. He's never spoken to me in the condescending way that I'm used to with Phil, and I've not once felt as if he was looking down at me for being one of the 'common folk'. If it weren't for Uncle Robert, as Phil calls him, Collin never would have even been considered for Wallace Cooper. They carefully selected the children that attended, and they were always from affluent families; mothers and fathers that were high powered attorneys, well respected medical professional and local politicians to name a few. Collin would have normally be considered unworthy of being a 'WC man'; I was just a lowly elementary school teacher. I don't teach at a fancy private facility. And with his status of coming from a single parent family…well we were viewed as second class. It had been Robert's influence, and money, that had secured Collin a spot.

"I was hoping we could chat for a little bit," he says. "About what happened yesterday. With Phil."

"I'm sorry," I respond. "I can't talk about that. I'm filing charges and…"

"You really don't want to do that, to you?" Robert asks. "I'm sure that something can be worked out between the two of you. So that none of this has to go any further than it needs to."

"So that it doesn't get out in the public and embarrass your godson, you mean."

"So it doesn't get out period. You've done enough airing of dirty laundry to last you a lifetime, Bree-Anne. Do you really want to have to get on the stand and go through it all again? Think about what it did to your life the first time. Think about how you felt when you had your name dragged through the mud. You don't just have yourself to worry about anymore. You have Collin now and I'm sure you don't him pulled into this."

"Collin was pulled into this the second Phil decided to manhandle me with my son in the next room," I argue. "And he was definitely pulled into it even more when Phil grabbed him and hurt him. Did your precious boy tell you that part? Did he tell you about how he hurt a two and a half year old little boy? Or would you like me to contact the crime lab and have them fax you a copy of the picture of the bruises on my son's arm?"

Robert sighs heavily. "Bree-Anne…calm down now…"

"Calm down? He hurt my son! And no one hurts my son! Does that make you proud of Phil? To know that he beats on women and innocent, helpless children? I bet that just makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside."

"He made a mistake," Robert explains. "A simple, innocent mistake."

"The bump on the back of my head and the bruises around my throat don't make it look like it was a _mistake_," I give a derisive snort. "The marks on Collin's arm don't make it look like it was a mistake either."

"He's remorseful for what he did and he wants to make amends," Robert tells me. "He's sorry for losing his temper and…"

"Losing his temper? I think choking someone and assaulting a toddler go far beyond losing your temper," I interject.

"You are making too big of a deal about this, Bree-Anne. These kinds of things happen in homes all over the world all of the time. But no means does it make it acceptable, but Phil is apologetic and he does want to make things right again. Don't fault the man for wanting to protect what he holds most dear to him. He's simply upset that this old boyfriend of yours has just appeared out of nowhere and that you seem to have developed an obsession with him."

"So that gives him an excuse to beat on me? To hurt my son?" I ask incredulously. "I'm hanging up now…"

"Do you really think the way you've been treating your son is any better than Phil physically harming him?" Robert asks.

"Don't accuse me of abusing my child," I struggle to keep my temper in check. "I've never once laid a hand on Collin. I've never once treated him badly. So don't you…"

"Emotional abuse is just as traumatizing," he reminds me.

"Emotional abuse?" I can't help but laugh out loud. "I don't hurt my son in any way, shape or form. I take damn good care of him and he doesn't need Phil's money or your influence to do well in this world. He's smart and he's healthy and he has great things ahead of me whether you have any say in it or not. So why don't you and Phil just…"

"The child doesn't even know who is father is!" Robert interrupts me. "He thinks that his father has gone on a permanent vacation and that he's never coming back! You think that's healthy? You think that's doing what's best for him to letting him think his father took off because he didn't want a child in his life?"

"I've never told Collin that's why his father left," I argue. "I've never told him that his father didn't want him."

"You've never told him anything at all! What are you going to do when he's old enough to start asking the hard questions? Lie to him just like you've lied to everyone else? You're going to harbour this deep, dark secret about his birth father for the rest of his life? Or are you going to tell him that his dad is a murderous scumbag serving a life sentence?"

"I'm going to tell him the truth," I say. "I'm going to tell him exactly who is father is."

"The truth. Now there's a rare and interesting concept for you," Robert retorts.

"I don't have to explain myself to you," I snap back. "I didn't have to give you my reasons for doing what I did. For keeping the secret that I did. I don't owe you anything."

"Oh I think you owe me plenty young lady. Your student loans finally paid off after God knows how many years, that fancy day care that your son goes to…"

"I'll give you back the goddamn money for my loans and I'll take Collin out of Wallace Cooper. He doesn't need to go there. There are plenty of decent schools in the public system. He doesn't need to associate with the stuck up little pricks that go to that place. He's better than that! I'm better than that!"

"Please…without Phil and without me the two of you will end up back in the gutter exactly where you belong. Is that what you want for yourself, Bree-Anne? For your precious baby boy? You want a boring, pitiful existence? Where you're just another name and number? Where you're _nothing_?"

"I am something," I retort. "I am someone's daughter and someone's sister and someone's mother. I have a good education and I make a good, honest living like some other people I won't stoop to your level by naming. I am something. And so is my son. We don't need you! So you take your private day care and your opinions on me and Collin and you shove them up your ass. And while you're at it, tell Phil to shove his apologies too! I want nothing to do with him! You tell him the next time I see him, we'll be in court. Oh, and that I hope all of his clients will just love the news getting out that he assaults little kids. That will go over real well, don't you think?"

"You listen here young lady!" Robert bellows. "You are in no position to be issuing threats to anyone! You're playing with the big boys here! Not some dumb ass, punk cop from Flushing, Queens! Do you honestly think that your boyfriend can protect you? That he can get you out of this mess? I've got a lot of high ranking NYPD officials on my payroll and…"

"Is that on the record?" I ask, trying hard not to let him her the tremor of fear in my voice. "Can I quote you on that?"

"You're just going to make things worse for yourself and for your boyfriend. Or should I be calling him your baby daddy?"

"I am hanging up," I hiss into the phone.

"You think long and hard about who you're fucking with Bree-Anne. I'd hate for anything to happen to you or to Collin."

"Is that a threat?" I ask. "Are you threatening me?"

"I'm warning you to make the right decision," Robert calmly replies. "If not for yourself or for your son, for Detective Flack. It would be a real shame if such a promising career was cut short because something he told you in confidence got leaked to the press."

Closing my eyes briefly, I take a deep breath and release it slowly.

"I thought that would shut you up," Robert says. "Now you listen to me very carefully, Bree-Anne. Unless you want that little secret of his getting out and ruining his entire life, you drop any and all charges against Phil and we'll work something out between all of us. Civilly."

"Financially, you mean."

"A nice little nest egg for you to build a future on," he explains. "Use it for a down payment on a house, start a college fund for Collin, but a healthy sum into a savings account for a rainy day. There's no reason why both you and Phil can't benefit from this. He keeps his nose clean, you keep buying your son nice things and taking good care of him. It's a win-win situation, don't you think?"

"I think…" I sigh heavily and lay my free hand over my pounding heart. "I think that I'll take my chances and…"

"Good girl," Robert praises. "Smart girl. You're doing the right thing by…"

"I think I'll take my chances and see you _both_ in court," I continue, then quickly disconnect the call.

My entire body shakes from both fright and rage; tears sting my eyes and an invisible iron first encloses my hear. My lungs burn as they struggle to draw air, and the cell phone tumbles from my fingers and onto the bed as I once against close my eyes. Placing both hands on my knees, I bend over and place my head in almost in my lap and force myself to get it together. I'm tired of letting people push me around. Cretins like Phil and Robert Dunbrook who think they're above the law and can walk around issuing threats and scaring you senseless. I may not be perfect; my morals took a nose dive during the last four years of my life and I lied to everyone that mattered the most. But everything I've done had been in the best interest of my son. And there's nothing that can excuse what Phil had done. Especially to Collin.

My breathing finally settles and the ache in my chest subsides, and as I open my eyes, I'm already making plans on how to combat the possibly volatile situation. Calling Bianca and getting in touch with the lawyer are first and foremost. Getting a hold of Donnie and telling him about Robert Dunbrook and his threats are next.

I've already made the mistake of discussing personal business over the phone, and there's no way I want anyone stumbling upon what Donnie and I so desperately need to discuss.

Looks like a trip into Manhattan is on my agenda for today.

I'm calm on the outside but frantic just below the service when I join Donnie's parents and Collin in the kitchen half an hour later. I feel somewhat re-energized after a steaming shower; my damp hair is pulled back into a high ponytail and I'm clad in a pair of chocolate brown linen capris and a white peasant style shirt. I'd attempted to place four calls to my boyfriend -is that even what he is? It's not like we've actually discussed or status or placed labels on each other- only to have my first three interrupted by hideous static and our conversations cut shorts by abruptly disconnected signals. The last call had gone straight to voice mail, and I'd left a cheerful message -at least I hoped my tattered nerves weren't showing through- about bringing Collin into the city so that the three of us could have lunch together.

As a family.

* * *

It's ten in the morning and all I can think about is what may be going down at Phil's office at this exact moment. I wonder if Robert Dunbrook is there; valiantly and ferociously defending his golden boy and spewing off even more venomous threats at anyone within striking distance. My main fear is that he's going to say something to Donnie - in front of anyone and everyone who may be present- about shooting Jess' killer. I'd never meant the secret to get out, and I'm terrified that my slip up will bring my new life to a screeching halt before it even manages to really get off the ground.

"Everything okay?" Pat asks, from where she labours over a sizzling frying pan; listening to country music on the radio while Collin and his grandfather colour at the kitchen table.

I nod and give a smile, hoping it's not as unsteady as I feel. "Good morning, button," I greet my son, as I stand behind the high chair and drop a kiss on the top of his head.

"Hi mum-mum!" he chirps happily. "Papa and I are making something special!"

"Collin here is quite the artist," Don Senior praises, reaching out to tousle his grandson's hair, a proud smile upon his weathered face.

In all the years I've known him and all the time I've spent in his company, I've never seen that smile before. And it touches me to think that maybe, just maybe, my little son is serving as the bridge that will make things right again between Donnie and his father. I know how much his father's approval means to him, and that it kills him inside that his old man has never showed a genuine interest in his career, nor supported him during the Dean nightmare. As far as I'm concerned, Donnie did the right thing when he passed over that log book. And nothing can ever change my mind about that.

"You should see the miracles he can work with popsicle sticks and pipe cleaners," I say, combing my fingers through Collin's hair. "He loves to make people things, don't you."

My son nods enthusiastically.

"Maybe we have the next Picasso on our hands," Senior says, and uses his foot to push the chair across from him away from the table. "Sit, Bree-Anne," he gestures to the seat. "You're part of our family. Make yourself at home. Pretend nothing's changed since you were a teenager. You won't find anyone judging you here."

I glance towards Pat, who shoots me a reassuring smile over her shoulder and gives a nod in confirmation to what her husband has just said.

"I was worried," I admit, as I sink down into the wooden chair. "About how things would be. Especially now that…" I nod towards Collin.

"Past is the past," Senior responds. "All that matters is what happens from here on out. You did what you did, Donnie did what he did and we did what we did. Simple as. None of us can go back and fix our mistakes. All we can do is make sure we don't repeat them. And to help each other keep on the straight and narrow."

I nod in agreement and breathe a sigh of relief. "I just wish that I'd told you both sooner," I lament. "You don't know how many times I saw you in church or on the street and I just wanted to walk over with Collin and hand him over to you and tell you that he was your grandson. And I know you probably both knew that he was, but I just…all I can do is say that I'm sorry. And hope that you believe me."

"Everything's okay," Pat assures me, giving me another soft, kind smile as she carries a large porcelain mug to the table. "You still take your tea with just milk?"

I nod in both thanks and confirmation. And accept her easy segue into another topic of conversation as a not so subtle hint to just drop things while I'm ahead. To just put the past and it's dreadful mistakes behind me.

"Your folks still doing that Caribbean trip every year I see," Senior comments, as he sips his coffee and keeps his eyes firmly on Collin as he scribbles away.

"My dad calls it his escape from the harshness of reality," I laugh.

"In that case, he should be taking the trip alone. Now that's a true escape," Senior quips.

"There are men who are totally devoted to their wives and still helplessly in love with them decades later," Pat reminds him.

"And then there's shmucks like me who don't start practicing the love and devotion until they're miserable old men with not enough time on their hands to right all their wrongs."

"I don't know about that," I say, as I sip my tea. "You seem to have come leaps and bounds in less than twenty four hours."

Senior smiles at that, and toasts me with his coffee mug. "You know what I always liked about you Bree-Anne? You know what I always knew kept my boy going back for more?"

I shake my head.

"The fact that you take no sh…"

Pat clears her throat and looks at Collin pointedly.

"…crap," Senior continues. "The fact that you say what you want, when you want, to who you want. You're a challenge. That's what he can't stay away from or live without."

"She keeps him in line," Pat declares, and crossing the kitchen, sets a plate of breakfast down in front of me. "It's what all men need."

Senior gives a derisive snort. Then turns serious as his blue eyes stare into the depths of his coffee cup. "He's a good man, my son…" he says . "I just want him to be happy. He deserves to be happy. And you…well you showing up like this? First time he's been happy in a long time. Just take good care of him. That's all I ask. 'Cause I do love him, you know. I do love my boy."

"I know…" I give him a soft smile. "And I think that while Donnie knows deep down that you do…well I just think he'd like to hear it. Every boy, no matter how big or how small or how young or how old needs to hear that their dad loves them and is proud of them."

Senior nods.

"My daddy loves me!" Collin chirps, not taking his eyes off of his artwork.

"Who doesn't love you?" Senior chuckles. "You're pretty hard not to love."

"My forever daddy's here now," my son continues, as he selects an orange crayon from the tin container beside him. "Donnie's my forever daddy, you know."

Senior nearly chokes on a mouthful of coffee, and there's a loud clatter as Pat loses her grip on the frying pan and it falls into the sink.

"Button…" I can barely get any words out. "What are you…"

"I heard you and Donnie talking last night," Collin informs me. "I wasn't really sweeping. I heard Donnie say that he was my forever daddy and that he couldn't find us for a long time. But that he was here now and he wasn't going anywhere ever again."

"You heard all of that?" I ask. "How did you…"

"I was faking it, mum-mum. I wasn't really sweeping. Donnie's my forever daddy…" his lower lip starts to wobble and tears sparkle in his blue eyes. "He's my forever daddy and he loves me and you and he's not going on vatation ever again."

"And you know that by forever daddy that means that your mommy and your daddy…" Senior begins.

"That God gave me to them," Collin finishes. "That God gave mommy and daddy a baby 'cause they love each other and that baby was me. I know that, papa. It's okay mum-mum…" he gives me a brave smile through his tears. "I'm not mad at you. I'm just happy I have my forever daddy now. Lucy's daddy said if I wished hard enough, it would come true. And it did!"

I nod in agreement and fight back my own flood of tears.

"Maybe now we can get a house and another dog!" Collin exclaims. "But I have to make sure that I'm not bad so that daddy doesn't get mad and leave!"

"Your daddy isn't going anywhere," Senior assures him. "None of us are. Your daddy loves you very much."

"I know," Collin whispers, then promptly dissolves into tears. His entire body shaking as he rests his forehead on his forearms and sobs as hard as his little body will let him.

I push my chair away from the table, but before I can stand up, Senior is waving me off and getting to his feet, and I watch as he effortlessly scoops Collin up out of the high chair and into his strong, protective arms.

I quickly realize, as Senior paces the kitchen and does his best to comfort Collin, that my little trip into Manhattan has suddenly taken on a whole new meaning.

* * *

**As usual, thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and even just lurking! I can't tell you all how much I appreciate the support!**

**Special thanks to:**

**CSINYMinute**

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	20. Apologize

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS.**

**THANKS TO EVERYONE THAT IS ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVES!**

**JUST WANT TO GIVE A SHOUT OUT TO DORI! YOU USED SOME GREAT LINES IN YOUR LAST REVIEW, HOPE YOU DON'T MIND ME BORROWING THEM FOR THE CHAPTER!**

* * *

**Apologize**

"I'd take another chance,  
Take a fall, take a shot for you.  
I need you like a heart needs a beat,  
But it's nothin' new.  
I loved you with a fire red,  
Now it's turnin' blue...  
And you say...  
Sorry, like an angel  
Heaven let me think was you...  
But I'm afraid...

It's too late to apologize.  
It's too late.  
I said it's too late to apologize.  
It's too late."  
-Apologize, One Republic

* * *

_**Flack's POV**_

The acrid taste of bile settles in my throat as I watch, my jaw clenched and rage resonation throughout my entire body, as Robert Dunbrook and Phil warmly embrace. It's the joining of two supreme evils, as far as I'm concerned. Duo scumbags that sit high atop my shit list. Phil for smacking Breezy around and having the nerve to even lay a finger on my kid, and Dunbrook for spawning the little bastard directly responsible for Jess' death. I only see things in black and white when it comes to the people that I love. I'd known from the get go in Breezy's front yard that Phil was an asshole; the condescending way in which he spoke to her, how it seemed as if he was looking down at her and Collin and expecting her to bow to him and kiss his ass for even allowing her to be with him. At first I'd thought that maybe I wasn't giving the guy a fair shake. That maybe I was looking for even the smallest negative thing about his personality and blowing it way out of proportion because I was jealous that he was with her. That Breezy had actually had the stones to move on with her life. While I'm not disappointed that he turned out to be such a fuck up, - because Phil actually makes me look like Prince Charming despite all of my issues- it does make me sick to think that she had to realize what a douche the knob was the hard way.

And then there's Bobby Dunbrook. Dickhead extraordinaire. It's honestly alarming how many high profile, powerful people he has in his back pocket. Despite Sinclair's insistences that no one in the department can be bought and he'd proved by helping us nail Connor that there was a decent bone in his body, I'm pretty sure that the mayor and the NYPD commissioner are making themselves cozy right at the top. Dunbrook has dirt on everyone -including people that didn't even realize they had skeletons in their closets- and he's able to twist and turn his goods for his own benefit. In my eyes, that sonofabitch played a huge role in Jess' death and her blood will forever be on his hands. The only thing that upsets me is knowing that he's incapable of accepting blame, or falling victim to a guilty conscience. While I've struggled what I did to Simon Cade, Dunbrook's had no trouble whatsoever sleeping at night.

"Nice to see that the horned beast doesn't fall far from hell," I mutter.

"Just proves that I'm not being paranoid after all when I think that every cockroach, rat and snake in this city really _are_ in cahoots with each other," Danny says, sheer disgust all over his face as he shakes his head in disbelief at what he's witnessing. He looks over at me, and I immediately see the concern that invades his eyes and wrinkles his forehead. "You alright?" he asks.

"I'm fine," I reply, and notice the way my best friend glances down at my hands. I'm totally unaware that I'd clenched both into tight fists; my fingers are aching and my knuckles are turning white. And it's then that I realize that my heart is hammering in my chest, my jaw is aching and there's sweat beading on my forehead.

"Hold up for a second," Danny orders Scottie, then stops walking, steps in front of me and lays his hands on my shoulders. Effectively halting my steps. "Don…you don't need to do this. You don't need to be here."

"I do," I argue. "I need to…"

"I know you wanted to see that scumbag get hauled in by the scruff of his neck; that it would give you this massive feeling of gratification to see him go down. I get that. I'd feel the same way if someone knocked around Linds and Lucy. But you being here considering everything that's gone down in the past year…"

"Me wanting to be here has nothing to do with…"

"With what?" Danny asks. "With Jess? In a way it has everything to do with her and you know it. You need someone to blame; I completely understand that. You need someone to be responsible for what happened, for screwing your life up so badly. And I get that watching Phil go down in some way gives you some kind of closure. That it means you were able to protect and save Bree-Anne; that you feel like you let Jess down by not being able to do the same for her. But Don…" he squeezes my shoulders. "Jess' death is not on your hands. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it. Or to save her. Don't disrespect her, or Bree-Anne, by swapping one for the other."

"You're making no goddamn sense," I grumble, and shove his hands off my shoulders and attempt to step past him.

"I'm making all the sense in the world and that's what's pissing you off," Danny blocks my path once again. "You being here is not a good idea, okay? First off, Phil can just turn around and scream conflict of interest 'cause you're involved. You've got history with Bree-Anne and he knows it and you can bet your ass Dunbrook knows it, too. When she testified at Dean's trial, both your names and the juicy little details of your 'thing' were broadcast on every channel and printed in every paper."

"You think I give a fuck what he thinks about me? You think it bothers me that he knows my dirty little secret? I don't give a rat's ass what Dunbrook or Phil think. So you can just…"

"And last but not least?" Danny ignores me completely. "The most important thing? You've got all of this anger inside of you and you're still trying to deal with what happened to Jess and you being around Dunbrook?"

"What do you think I'm going to do to him Danny?" I inquire, giving a snort of disgust as I over hear the man in question assuring Phil 'not to worry about his little situation, I'll take care of it'. I can only imagine that Phil has told him everything that went down between him and Breezy yesterday. Or at least Phil's version of the events. "You think I'm going to stoop to his level?" I ask my best friend. "Toss him out of a window? Give him a nice healthy dose of his own medicine?"

"I'm worried about you," Danny replies. "You're my best friend, Don. I wasn't able to be there for you when you started fucking yourself up for the first time after Jess' death and I ended up in the chair. But you know what? I'm here now. I'm here now and you and I both know you've got some issues. Some serious issues. And as much as you hate hearing the initials PTSD…"

I sigh heavily and chew agitatedly on my bottom lip.

"If you're not going walk away for yourself, walk away for Bree-Anne," Danny urges. "'Cause if the charges are tossed out or the evidence is inadmissible 'cause you're here? Well I know for a fact you'll blame yourself and the last thing you need to be doing is burdening yourself with shit you have no control over. Do it for her, Don. Most importantly, do it for Collin. For you boy. Who just found you and doesn't deserve to have you snatched out of his life."

Danny knows that Breezy and Collin are my weaknesses; that there's nothing I won't do for either of them.

"Fine…" I reluctantly agree, and reaching behind me, yank the folded arrested warrant out of the back pocket of my jeans. "Just promise me…"

"I'll make sure that it all goes down the way it should," Danny assures me, and take the piece of paper from my hands. "Now just turn around, get back on the elevator and walk on out of here like you've got no clue about what's going down up here. Just get back in your squad, go back to the precinct, and have yourself a coffee or even a glass of warm milk like mommy always made you to calm your nerves…"

I frown. Damn my mother for getting too tipsy on white wine three Christmas' ago and babbling all of my childhood secrets and for letting loose about warm milk being the only thing that ever settles my stomach and relaxes me. A practice I still allow myself even in my adult years.

"…I'll catch up to you once Phil gets processed down at Central Booking," Danny finishes. "Just go back to work. Call Bree-Anne. Talk to your boy. Do something to keep your mind off of this. Dig out that number to the department therapist you were seeing and…"

"Now you're pushing it, Messer," I say, and turn on my heel and head for the elevators.

"You need help," Danny laments. "You really do. And if you want me to go with you to the appointments, all you gotta do is say the word."

"Thanks…" I give an appreciative nod and lay the tip of my index finger against the down button. "But I'm fine."

"Don't be such a stubborn bastard," my best friend retorts, then realizing he's fighting an impossible battle, turns his back on me and motions for his my cousin to follow him towards Phil and Dunbrook.

The chime for the elevator sounds and the doors slide open, and I've just hit the button for the ground level when I hear Danny announcing the purpose for his visit to Phil's workplace.

"You Phil Harris?…yeah?…I'm Detective Messer from the crime lab, how you doin'? Guess what? You're under arrest for the assault of…"

The doors close before I manage to hear the rest.

* * *

They say a mother knows best; mine has personally handed down a staggering amount of pearls of wisdom that have remained imbedded in my brain. I'll never actually admit to the fact that she's right ninety nine percent of the time when it comes to the suggestions she dispenses on unconventional medical techniques, the old folklores that she insist I practice because they've served her well all of her life, - "Almost seventy and I'm in better shape than you are!" she always loves to declare- and even the well meaning if not slightly annoying advice in regards to my personal life -"She's not good enough for you, Donnie!" she'd announced when I'd brought Devon home to meet my folks. "You can do so much better!". Letting my mother know that I'm actually listening to her and appreciating everything she tells me is the worst possible thing I could ever do. I tell her that, and the next thing I know she'll be showing up on my doorstep and moving herself into my place and cooking all of my meals, doing all of my laundry and keeping the place clean. And I…

And I seriously don't know why I'm bitching about all of that. Who doesn't want a live in housekeeper and cook?

I'll never admit to Danny either that I accepted his suggestion of warm milk to settle my nerves and hopefully calm my queasy stomach. Seeing Dunbrook had done a number on me to say the least. The guy had been a pompous ass since day one; I'll never forget how extremely gratifying it had been to stand in his office that and bear witness to Mac laying into him when I'd told Dunbrook the step back and the SOB had gotten shitty with me. I was more than capable of sticking up for myself; I'm not considered a cocky, smart mouth little bastard for no reason. But there was always something so…pleasurable…about having someone stick up for you and then being able to laugh in the face of the dickhead who'd tried to boss you around. I swear, I wish I'd had a mirror right in front of me at that moment so I could have committed the smirk that crossed my face to memory.

It's just shy of eleven when I finally return to my desk. A mountain of case files and paperwork awaiting my attention, along with a stack of messages Sully had tossed my way when I'd signed back in. I've got active leads on five cases that I need to concentrate on, employee evaluations on my guys that I need to have completed and on Sinclair's desk in a few days' time, and three crown attorneys that I need to go over year old reports with as the time for trials draw closer and closer. It's honestly days like this where I miss being a uniform.

Using my foot to pull out my chair, I toss the pile of phone messages onto my cluttered desk and then set the take out cup of steamed milk on the top of the case files. I'd seen the weird way that the barista at Starbucks had looked at me when I'd requested the drink, and I hadn't appreciated her questioning me on whether or not I was buying it for a pregnant wife or girlfriend because steamed milk had apparently helped her sister conquer her morning sickness. I'd just given the young woman a "No" in response and had tossed a five at her and told her to keep the change before snagging my drink and getting the hell out of there. Last thing I needed was to feel like less of a man because my mother had brainwashed me, from a very young age, into thinking that warm milk actually helped in some way, shape or form. People have various forms of comfort food. Jess liked chocolate glazed donuts with a can of Pepsi on the side when she was in a shitty mood, Breezy apparently still turns to ice cream in order to make herself feel better. Me, I'm steamed milk. Regardless of how ridiculous and less 'hard core' it makes me seem.

Jess used to get on me about it. Tease me about how 'soft' I really was and call me a momma's boy. "Isn't it so cute that the big bad homicide detective loves his mommy so much," she'd chide, her eyes sparkling playfully and a soft, teasing smile on her lips. "What would everyone say if they knew how much you liked your warm milk and hot baths and your feet rubbed at the end of the day?"

I miss that about Jess the most. The way she used to pick on me and make me blush. It came easily to her; I'd feel my cheeks flush and the tips of my ears heat up and she'd laugh at me and tell me how damn cute I was. She'd had this easy and effortless way of getting to me. In both good and bad ways. She'd been capable of burrowing herself under my skin and driving me crazy during a work related disagreement. She'd pick at me and nag until I'd finally snap and either admit she was right or I'd say something nasty that I'd have to grovel about later on. And then there was the private Jess. The one that I'd had the pleasure of getting to know. Who, underneath that tough exterior she clothed herself in whenever she put on that badge and gun, was gentle and kind and surprisingly vulnerable. Who liked to snuggle as close as possible in bed or when we were sprawled on the couch watching a movie. Who liked to be pampered and doted on and who could cry at the drop of the hat. Who, if I had to be up and out of the door before her, would get up and send email messages for me to discover when I logged on at work. Surprisingly romantic and sweet emails that just seemed so out of place coming from Detective Jessica Angell.

That's the Jessica I miss. The one that squeezed the toothpaste tube in the middle and left her bras and underwear slung over the bar for the shower curtain. Who never rinsed her dishes or glasses and always left a slight lipstick stain around the rim. Who'd spray my pillow and the bed with her perfume until I was coughing and gagging and my eyes were burning and I had to throw open the window in search of some relief. Who, despite her confident demeanour at work, could be just as self-conscious and paranoid as any other woman if she thought I was spending too much time talking to or looking at another female.

Who could drive me absolutely insane with the most feathery of kisses and the most tender of caresses.

I do miss her. Every day. But in the past two days, I've stopped wishing her back. I've finally come to the realization that she's never coming back and that I need to go one with my life. That she'd want me to get my shit in gear. That she'd want me to be in love and be loved. And if she had have been alive and I'd found that Collin was my son…well Jess had been the type of person that would have walked away from me so that Bree-Anne and I could form a proper family. She would have been hurt, but she would have understood.

What she wouldn't understand is why I kept torturing myself. Why I feel the need to blame someone for what happened. Why I'm so angry even a year later. And if she'd known that I'd bailed on therapy, Jess would have been the one dragging me there kicking and screaming.

Sighing heavily, I yank open the top drawer on my desk and rummage through the sea of papers inside until I finally unearth exactly what I'm looking for. The business card belonging to Doctor Karen Woodward, the shrink that I'd told to go fuck herself and called a quack when she'd suggested that she knew exactly how I was feeling. She hadn't even blinked when I'd blown up on her, and had even reminded me that I could call her whenever I was ready as I stormed out of my office.

I'm not entirely ready, but it's something I need to do. For myself and for Breezy and Collin. If we're going to successful as a family, I need to get my own crap together first. Closing the drawer, I hold the business card in my left hand as I scoop up the receiver for the phone on the my desk with my right. Tucking it between my shoulder and ear, I use the tip of my index finger to punch in the good doctor's extension.

My cell phone rings just as the call I'm making goes to voice mail, and I leave a hasty message about who I am and what I want and rattle of my extension and cell number before hanging up and snagging my cell out of the holder on my belt. A smile curving my lips as Breezy's name and digits appear on my display. We've been playing phone tag since quarter to ten in the morning. Every time she'd gotten a hold of me and we'd made an attempt at a conversation, the static had been unbearable and then our calls had been disconnected. On the way back to the precinct from Phil's office, I'd finally managed to get pick up the message she'd left me about bringing Collin into town so the three of us could have lunch together. She hadn't answered her cell when I'd called back to confirm the plans.

I press the talk button and place the phone to my ear. "You have no idea how badly I needed to hear your voice right about now," I say in way of greeting.

"And you have no idea how disgustingly hard you are to get a hold of," Breezy laughs. "What was wrong with your phone earlier?"

"I was stuck in the goddamn New York City Bermuda Triangle," I tell her. "You never told me that Phil's office was directly across the street from the Empire State Building. Second I turned the corner my phone crapped out. Kind of makes sense though, don't you think? That a douche like him would have an office in The Triangle? He's a weird ass piece of work all in himself. He's definitely at home."

"He'd be more at home in the East River with a pair of cement shoes on his feet," Breezy remarks.

"Easy now…" I chide, as I lean back in my chair. "You're talking to a cop, remember? Now that you've said that, if something bad happens to him, you'll be my first suspect."

"Will you personally come to arrest me?" she asks. "Will you be the one that shows up to frisk and arrest me?"

A massive grin spreads across my face. "Are you trying to get me to have phone sex with you?" I inquire in a low voice.

She just laughs.

"Sorry…" I chuckle. "I shouldn't be taking every little thing you say to me and turning it into something perverted."

"No, you shouldn't," she agrees. "But I meant that question about frisking and handcuffing to be perverted," she quickly adds. "And for your information, I'm wearing chocolate brown linen capris and a white peasant top."

"Hair up or down?" I ask, unable to help myself.

"Up," Breezy replies.

"Tell you what, you put it down and I'll go into the locker room, lock myself in the nearest cubicle and then me and you can have a nice long, dirty talk."

"Actually," she sighs, and I can tell by the tone of her voice that she's embarrassed. "I'd rather wait for the real thing."

"Me too," I say. "Although I have to warn you, it's been almost four years since we've…well you know…and after all that time…"

"I don't expect slow and romantic," she tells me. "And after the dream that I had this morning…"

"A dream, huh?" I notice Sinclair step through the bullpen door and begin making his daily rounds to all of the desks, and I lean forward and grab one of the folders from the pile and a pen from the cup on my desk. "Tell me about this dream," I say into the phone, as I open the folder and set it in my lap and then press the top of the pen down to open it. "And if I say anything strange or come out with something regarding anything to do with police codes or a case, just keep talking. My boss is here and he's never in a good mood."

"I can call back," Breezy suggests. "Or talk to you when we…"

"No…I just need to hear you talk, okay? After the morning I've had…I just need to hear you talk."

"I didn't go well with Phil, did it," It's more a statement than a question.

"Tell me about the dream," I encourage. "I haven't heard anything about Phil. I left before Danny arrested him and he hasn't called me to tell me how it went. As far as I know, they're down at Central Booking. And I'd rather hear about some dirty dream than talk about Phil."

"Donnie, is everything okay?" she asks. "You'd tell me if…"

"The dream," I insist. "Humour me here, babe."

"Well without going into too much detail…"

"I want detail. Lots of it, " I grin. "Detail is good."

"…we were doing things in your kitchen and…"

"Things like what?" I inquire. "Making out?"

"Yeah…like how we used to when I'd be at your place waiting for your folks to leave and then they'd finally step out the door and…"

"And I was on you like white on rice," I chuckle. "So we were acting like a bunch of horny high school kids, huh?"

"It was pretty…_intense_," Breezy confirms.

"I guess you're going to have to show me just how intense the next time we're alone," I say. "How'd things end? Did we…?"

"On the kitchen table," she says, then giggles. "It was so dirty, Donnie. So dirty and so amazing and so realistic that I…well…I…"

"Something tells me this part I might want to hear when I am locked in a stall so I can do something about my predicament," I tease.

"Well let's just put it this way…I scared your mom because I was making so much noise and she thought something was wrong."

I can't help but laugh, and feel a slight stirring in my nether regions. It's not every day your girlfriend confesses to something doing something like that. Especially over the phone. While you're at work. There's something so forbidden and exciting about it.

"Bree-Anne Douglas," I tease. "Are you telling me that you gave yourself a little something-something _while_ you were thinking about me?"

"Dreaming," she corrects. Then bursts into a fit of laughter.

Sinclair's shadow falls over my desk and I react quickly.

"Let me just put you on hold for a second and I'll look up that information right now," I say into my cell, then hit the button that enables me to park the car. "Mornin' sir," I greet my boss, then turn towards my computer and pull up a random file. "Just tying up some lose ends here."

"Good to see," Sinclair says, and gives an approving nod before moving on to the next row of desks.

* * *

"Sorry about that," I tell Breezy, when I reconnect our call. "Sinclair's been on the war path lately. Especially when I got nailed with that restraining order yesterday. I've got to watch myself. Make sure I don't piss on any shoes or step on any toes. I'm a little on edge here. Worried about the whole Phil thing."

"Worried?" she asks. "Why are you…?"

"Do you know Robert Dunbrook?" I ask. It's been bugging my ass since I'd seen the piece of shit and Phil together. "You know, the media mogul? Obnoxious, arrogant, vile prick that seems to own just about everyone and everything in this city?"

"He's Phil's godfather," Breezy replies. "Why? What does…?"

"You didn't think of telling me that?" I inquire, hoping I don't sound as pissed about that little piece of information as I feel.

"Why would I tell you that Robert Dunbrook is Phil's godfather?" she responds with a question of her own.

"Because Dunbrook is bottom feeder," I angrily reply. "He's a piece of shit Breezy and he's dangerous and you should have told me that Phil was tight with him. You never told me that Phil had people that powerful in his corner."

"I never thought of telling you until this morning. It was one of the things that I was going to talk to you about when we met for lunch. I didn't think he was anything to worry about until he…" she abruptly stops.

"Until he what?" I ask. "Until he what, Bree-Anne?"

"He called me," she replies. "This morning."

"Robert Dunbrook called you?" my hand tightens around my cell phone and my heart starts to thud furiously in my chest once again. "When? What did he say?"

"He wanted me to drop the charges against Phil. He told me that things could be worked out. That if I dropped the charges he'd make sure that…"

"That he'd hand over some nice wad of cash to make sure you kept your mouth shut about what went down," I finish for her.

"Pretty much," she sighs. "And then he told me…he told me that unless I wanted your dirty little secret making the rounds in all of the papers, I'd do everything he says and not argue and just let the thing with Phil go by the wayside."

"The _thing _with Phil? The _thing? _Is that what it's called these days? Is that the in term for letting a douche bag get away with bashing around a woman? He hurt you Breezy. He could have killed you if Collin never threatened to call the cops. Do you understand that? Do you understand what he might have done to you if your son…_our_ son…hadn't stood up for you like he did?"

"Please don't be angry…" she pleads. "I didn't…"

"Collin tried to help you and he got hurt, Bree-Anne," I only call her by her full name when I'm pissed off on her. It's always a sure sign to her that she's pushing all the wrong buttons. "He's two and a half years old and he tried to protect you! His mother! He tried to help you and that motherfucker grabbed him! You saw his arm! You saw the bruises? And you just brush it off? Call it a _thing_?"

"I know what he did Don!" she busts out the shortened version of my name. Meaning she's just as pissed and that she's not going down without a fight. "I was there! I saw what he did to Collin! I had to stop him before…"

"Before he hurt him even more than he already had!" I snap. "He's my son, too! Remember? And if you think someone like Robert Dunbrook is going to bully me into dropping assault charges against the asshole that hurt you and Collin, than you're seriously fucking underestimating me."

"Don, calm down. I never…"

"He's an evil bastard," I say. "They both are. And him and Phil can just go to hell together as far as I'm concerned. Keep each other company. Those charges aren't being dropped and there's no way in hell you're backing out now. You're not letting him get away with hurting Collin. Dunbrook deserves to be shot and pissed on. Him and his son."

"Is that what this is really about?" Breezy asks. "Is this really about you having an axe to grind against him because his son is one of the reasons Jess died that day? Is that why you're this upset? Because deep down anything that has to do with Jess upsets you far more than anything to do with me and Collin?"

"It upsets me that he thinks that Phil should get away with what he did," I fight to control my temper. "I love you. I love my son. And…"

"And you loved Jess and you're still hurting for her and you're still grieving and…"

"This isn't about Jess!" I hiss into the phone. "She has nothing to do with this! Why are you…"

"She was your girlfriend, Donnie. She was your girlfriend and she loved you and you loved her and she was murdered and…"

"And it has nothing to do with this!" I interject angrily. "Jess isn't in my life anymore. You are. You and my son. Simple as. This is all about the two of you! Phil hurt my family and he's going to fucking pay. How much plainer do I have to be?"

"But you did love her," Breezy says.

"I am not getting into this with you," I sigh heavily. "I'm not getting into a huge fight with you over the phone because you feel like what's going on right now has nothing to do with you and everything to do with her. Is that what it's going to be like, Bree-Anne? Is this going to happen every time something goes down between us? You're going to think that I'm still in love with her? That I still miss her? That I…"

"Do you?" she inquires. "Miss her? Love her?"

"I miss her," I admit. "But I don't wish her back if it means I'd lose you all over again. You're my forever. My happily ever after and if losing Jess is what brought you back into my life then…" I take a deep breath and release it slowly. "Then losing her was a sacrifice I had to make. That I'd make all over again. As mean as that must make me sound, it's the truth."

Silence emanates from the other end.

"And I love you," I continue. "I've always loved you. And I don't know how many times I have to tell you or what I have to do to make you realize that I'm telling you the truth about that."

"I don't want to be anyone's replacement," Breezy finally speaks once again.

"Anyone that came after you was _your _replacement," I tell her. "How much more convincing to you need?"

"I just don't want…I just don't want you thinking you're in love with me when really you're just lonely and…"

"Bree-Anne, I swear to God I will hang up if you don't stop. If you don't just…if you don't just let me have the last word. For once."

She manages a laugh at that. "I guess I do have a tendancy to dwell on things…"

"You think?" I chuckle. "You know, you get that from your mom."

"What?" she asks. "My inability to just shut up?"

"You said it, not me," I tease.

"What about Robert Dunbrook?" Breezy frets. "He knows about you shooting Jess' killer and…"

"I'll take care of it, okay? I'll find a way to beat him at his own game. Even if it means going to Mac or even Sinclair for help. Maybe it's time I got it out of my system. That I told them exactly what happened that day. I doubt they're going to crucify me for shooting a cop killer. You think the department will actually investigate one of their own when the dead perp murdered a fellow officer?"

"I never thought about that," Breezy admits.

"Worse that could happen to me is administrative leave. They'd shove me behind my desk without my gun and shield for a bit."

"They could also fire you," Breezy says.

"So they fire me," I shrug. "I'm sure I can get a job working security somewhere. Go from being a real cop to a 'rent-a-cop'."

She sighs.

"Babe, I'd clean porta-potties all day long for shit pay, no pun intended, as long as I got to come home to you," I tell her. "As long as I get to come home you and my boy…well that's all that matters to me now."

"I love you," she says, and I can tell she's close to tears. "So much and I need to tell you about…"

There's a slight rustling noise, and I can hear a television playing in the background and both Collin's and his mother's voices.

"I have a surprise for you," Breezy gets back on the phone. "Well, Collin does. Something happened this morning. He told me something and I…I don't know any other way to tell you what happened. It's nothing life threatening or anything but I…"

"You're rambling," I tease. "What's the surprise?"

I hear her sigh, then more rustling as the phone is passed from person to person, followed by Collin's soft breathing.

"Hello?" he inquires curiously.

I can't control the smile that spreads from ear to ear. "Hey, buddy…" I greet. "What are you…?"

"Hi daddy!" he chirps.

A lump of emotion immediately threatens to choke off my airway, and I feel the unmistakable burning sensation of tears filling my eyes. I'd never thought that a simple five letter word could effect me in such a profound way.

"Guess what?" Collin continues, oblivious to the damage he's inflicted on me. "Mommy and I are going to come and have lunch with you! We're going to take the subway! Isn't dat cool?"

"Yeah…" I manage. "It's…cool…"

"Can we go to McDonalds?" he asks hopefully. "Can I get chick 'uggets?"

"You can get anything you want," I reply. _A pony, your own private box at Madison Square Garden, a Ferrari when you're eighteen…_

"I has to go!" he exclaims. "I gots to go pee! I go pee in the big people potty, you know!"

"I know," I say, and frantically blink back tears.

"Bye!" Collin cries. "Bye, daddy! I loves you!"

"I love you, too," I tell him, clearing my throat noisily as he hands the phone off to his mother and I hear his feet against the hardwood floor as he scampers towards the washroom.

"Are you okay?" Breezy asks. She knows me all to well.

"I think so…" I reply. "I'll be okay. How did…?"

"He heard us talking last night," she explains. "He heard you saying that you were his forever daddy and that you couldn't find us for a long time but that you're here now and not going anywhere. I don't know why he didn't say something to you when you had breakfast with him this morning. I guess he had his own little reasons for keeping quiet about it."

"I guess," I sigh heavily and run a hand over my face. "Definitely not the way I thought it would go down, but…"

"Detective Flack! A word!" Sinclair bellows from across the stationhouse, and I look towards the front entrance where he's standing with a pissed off and agitated Danny and equally irate….

_Robert Dunbrook. _

_For fucks sakes._

"I gotta go, babe," I say into the phone. "I've got some business I need to take care of. I'll see you soon okay?"

"Okay," she agrees. "I'm sorry. About fighting with you about Jess and Robert Dunbrook."

"I'm sorry if I got a little…_nasty_…with you," I offer an apology of my own.

"Now Detective!" Sinclair orders. "Don't you make me come over there and yank you out of the chair."

"I love you," I tell Breezy. "Both of you."

"We love you too," she says, and disconnects the call.

Sighing heavily, I press end on my cell phone, then push my chair away from my desk and stand up. Taking a deep breath, I release it slowly and order myself to relax as I journey across the bullpen towards the waiting group of men.

I want to look calm, cool and collected.

Even though it feels as if I'm walking directly into hell.

* * *

**As usual, a massive thanks to everyone to is reading, reviewing and even just lurking! I appreciate all of the support!**

**Special thanks to:**

**CSINYMinute**

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**hope4sall**

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**Woodland Flower**

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**New-York-Babeee**

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**JonasBROSgirl8816**


	21. Let Them Be Little

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ALSO DO NOT OWN JOHN SULLIVAN, WHO WAS A CHARACTER ON THE LONG DECEASED TELEVISION SHOW 'THIRD WATCH'**

**

* * *

****Let Them Be Little**

"I can remember when you fit in the palm of my hand  
Felt so good in it, no bigger than a minute  
How it amazes me, you're changing with every blink  
Faster than a flower blooms they grow up all too soon

So let them be little 'cause they're only that way for a while  
Give them hope, give them praise, give them love every day  
Let them cry, let them giggle, let them sleep in the middle  
Oh just let them be little."  
-Let Them Be Little, Lonestar (originally Billy Dean)

* * *

_**Breezy's POV**_

When we'd gotten onto the subway at the main terminal in Flushing, the train had been relatively empty. A few college kids listening to their Ipods with the volume cranked while squeezing in some last minute studying, an elderly couple -the husband reading the newspaper while the wife busied herself with knitting what appeared to be the start of a multicoloured baby blanket- and a young teenage mother chewing and snapping her gum noisily, chatting on her cell phone while her baby girl -she couldn't have been more than a year- tugged on her mommy's clothes in a vain attempt to get some attention.

Collin, despite all of the empty seats at our disposal, had insisted that we sit right next to the baby in the stroller. I don't know if it was just his fascination with other children -especially the females- or if maybe even at his tender age he'd found the young mother's negligence appalling and wanted to do something, anything, to make that little girl feel better, but he simply hadn't been willing to take no for an answer. Unless I'd wanted to run the risk of having to contend with a massive melt down on his part, I'd had no choice but to park his buggy alongside of the other child's. And while I'd never made eye contact with, let alone uttered a word to, the little girl's mother -she'd been too busy with her phone call- Collin had spent the entire twenty minutes from the time we sat down until his new friend and her mother got off, entertaining the baby with the toys attached to her stroller, and making goofy faces that had had her roaring with laughter.

I swear he's exactly like his father in more than just the looks department. He has Donnie's massive heart; for a big, bad homicide detective, he possesses an amount empathy that is honestly quite staggering and nearly impossible to believe. Collin has been the recipient of his father's desire to save the world. One person at a time.

As the train grew noisier and more crowded, so had my son's insistences that he was a big boy and didn't need to -or want to- sit in his stroller. And while he'd started out kneeling in the spot beside me -he'd been adamant that we park ourselves on the side seats so that he could look out the window, despite the fact there wasn't much to see in the dark tunnels- he'd soon willingly, and without a suggestion or request from me, coughed up his seat to an elderly woman with a walker. And had announced, before unceremoniously plopping himself onto my thighs:

"I'm sitting on your lap, mum-mum!"

Just a short few weeks ago, I wouldn't have complained about the weight of his body. He'd been petite since the day he was born and had always struggled to stay on the paediatrician's growth charts. But thanks to an apparently increasing appetite, he feels as if he's packing on the pounds. Even though he physically doesn't look any heavier.

Three stops from our destination, my son decides to make another new friend. He seems to have an uncanny ability to charm people regardless of gender or age. He just bats those long, dark eyelashes, widens those brilliant blue eyes or gives that dimply grin and successfully melts even the most frozen of hearts. And he also has a secret weapon; a dramatic pout that almost always secures everything and anything he wants. Unfortunately, in a place like New York City, Collin tends to be a little too friendly. He talks to everyone and either offers up some of the treats we bring along on our trips -today it's a baggy of little Ritz crackers made into tiny peanut butter sandwiches- or he accepts suckers and other forms of candy some old woman pulls out of her cluttered purse simply because she say he reminds her of her own grandson.

Right now however, as he sits on my lap with my arms securely around his waist while he munches on his crackers, he's engrossed in a staring contest with the man standing directly in front of us. A child's curiosity knows no bounds, and unfortunately, it often comes with a barrage of sometimes embarrassing questions. They don't mean to humiliate you; they're simply honest to a fault and don't know how to practice tact in order to spare the feelings of the person they're directing their queries at. They're not asking things to be mean or spiteful; their hearts are innocent and pure and their minds simply need thorough explanations for what they are seeing.

And while I was initially taken aback when this monster of a man -at least six foot fie and well over 225 and built like a Sherman Tank- stepped onto the train in his clunky army boots, leather jacket and baggy fatigue pants and parked himself in front of us, I'd quickly found something else to occupy my idle mind. A lifelong New Yorker, I was used to obscure and strange. And this guy wasn't that shocking.

Even if he did have what appeared to be metal horns sticking out of the top of his head.

Collin however, has been wide eyed and extremely interested and intrigued since the man had gotten on the subway. He's not frightened in the slightest; his penetrating gaze is unwavering and the stranger looming over us is no slouch in the staring contest department either. And I silently beg and plead for my little son to just find something else to be interested in. Like the plastic baggy of treats I keep waving in front of his face and he shoves away repeatedly.

"What's up little man?" the horned stranger finally breaks the tension filled silence, and his deep voice is so intimidating it causes me to shudder.

"Hi!" my son happily chirps. "I'm Collin Alexander Truby. I'm almost tree," he holds up his left hand, three small fingers extended. "What's your name?"

"My name's Quentin Oswego," the man replies, a surprisingly warm and gentle smile curving his lips.

"How old are you?" Collin inquires, and then offers his bag of crackers. "Want some? I got lots. You can have some if you want."

Quentin looks at me, as if seeking permission and I give a nod and attempt a smile of my own.

"Don't mind if I do sport," he digs one of his massive hands into the plastic sandwich bag and helps himself to a several of the treats. "Thank you…you're a good kid. Your mom and dad are obviously bringing you up right. Lots of manners and everything."

"Grammie says there's no excuse to be a pooh head," Collin says, causing not only Quentin and myself to laugh, but several people around us as well. "She says that God likes good little boys the bestest and I don't want God to be mad at me. If he's mad then he might tell Santa and the Easter Bunny not to bring me anything."

"Something tells me you've got a permanent spot on the top of the good little boys list," Quentin assures him.

Collin cocks his head to the side. "How old are you?" he asks curiously, and I blush and quickly shush him.

"I'm thirty two," his new friend replies.

"Mommy's thirty-four," Collin announces. "But she doesn't look it! Papa says that she still looks like she isn't old enough to into da pub and order a pint. What does that mean?"

"Is this your mom here?" Quentin asks, and I'm thankful he changes the subject. I'm both embarrassed that he's divulged my age to a subway car full of strangers, and that he has the memory of an elephant and a bad habit of repeating everything he hears. "Is that who this pretty lady is? Or is it your girlfriend?"

"It's not my girlfriend!" Collin cries, apparently offended by the mere suggestion. "It's my mum-mum! Lucy's my girlfriend!"

"Is she cute?" Quentin inquires, and helps himself to some more Ritz crackers.

"Of course!" Collin gives a laugh as if to say, 'did you expect any different from a stud like me?' "You got a girlfriend?" he asks.

"Kid, I've got way too many to even count on both my hands. Let anyone remember all of their names," he replies. "Life of a player though."

"What's dat mean?" Collin asks.

"Just means that I've got no shortage of female companionship. That I've got some girlfriends I can spare."

"I just got Lucy," my son says, and gives a dreamy sigh. "Lucy's special."

"Special girls don't come around too often," Quentin says. "Make sure you hold onto her, a'right?"

"Okie dokie," Collin gives an energetic nod and pops a cracker into his mouth. "My daddy's a peas-man," he announces. "A special peas-man. He's a defective."

"Detective," I correct, pronouncing the word slowly and clearly. "De-tect-tive."

"He catches bad guys and puts them in jail," Collin continues. "So they can't hurt any more people. Do you know any peas-mans?"

"Oh I know quite a few," Quentin says with a smirk. "I'm on a first name basis with a whole lot of policemen."

"You gots lots of friends dat are peas-man?" Collin's eyes widen in awe, falling back against my chest as the subway grinds to a stop.

"Something like that. Listen little man, this is my stop. It was nice talking to you. Thanks for those crackers."

"No prob!' Collin declares, and then exchanges a high five with the man when Quentin holds out his left palm towards him. "Your head is really cool!" he calls out as an afterthought, as his new friend weaves through the crowd of people in order to get to the open door. "I wish I had a head like dat!"

I can hear Quentin Oswego laughing hysterically even as the doors close behind him. And before the subway pulls away from the stop, I hear a knocking on the window behind us and both Collin and I turn to look in time to see the big man giving a wave in farewell.

"Bye!" Collin cries, as twists and turns his body so that he's kneeling on my already aching thighs, and he continues to wave energetically until the Quentin disappears up the stairs leading to the street. "He was really nice, mum-mum," my son declares, and plops himself down on my lap once again. "I gots lots of friends. You think I can have a head like dat when I'm big?"

"How about we see if you still find it cool when you're about…I don't know…forty."

"You're silly mommy," he declares, then giggles as I nuzzle his ear with the tip of my nose and press a series of noisy kisses to his cheek.

"But you love me," I say, and squeeze him tightly.

"I love you forever, I like you for always. As long as I'm living, my mommy you'll be," Collin easily recites the words from our favourite book and tears immediately spring to my eyes. Overwhelmed not only by how smart he proves to be time and time again, but that the depth of love I have for him is so staggering and powerful.

"As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be," I whisper into his ear, and then kiss his temple. Not caring how many grumpy and hard core New Yorkers see the tears that trickle freely down my cheeks.

* * *

The reception area of the twelfth precinct is a hub of activity; phones ringing off the hook and a heavy set, weathered uniform officer behind the desk barking orders into a walkie talkie as the secretary I'd briefly met the day before attempts to field a barrage of questions by agitated and irate citizens demanding instant answers and results to complaints they'd filed or parking tickets they felt as if they'd been unjustly issued.

"We are not the parking authority!" the uniform office bellowed. "Got a problem with a ticket, take it up with by-law! We deal with legit issues here! Don't like it, take a hike! And while you're at it, take m badge number and file a complaint about what a miserable bastard I am!"

I can't help but smirk as half a dozen red faced people, parking tickets in their hand, nearly knock each other over to get to the exit; muttering profanities towards the officer, and issuing half assed apologizes to each other. And I steer the stroller towards a bank of chairs across from the main desk and taking a seat, turn my son to face me. His eyes are narrowed as he glares at me, and his tiny arms are crossed over his chest as he repeatedly slams his heels off the buggy's foot rest.

"Don't pout," I scold Collin gently, and straighten the Mets cap on the top of his head.

"I don't want to be in here!" he whines. "I don't want to be in da stroller! I'm not a baby!"

"No, you're not. But you're acting like one," I inform him. "And you have to be in there so you don't get lost. Did you want to get lost on the way from the subway station? Did you want to get separated from mommy? Have some bad person pick you up and take you away? Wouldn't you be sad if you didn't get to see mommy and daddy again? Or Luna?"

"Daddy would catch the bad guy and save me," Collin informs me. "And he wouldn't make me sit in da stroller!"

"Yes, he would," I calmly say. "Because he wouldn't want you to run away and get lost either. Once we get somewhere that's not so busy, you can come out. Simple as that. Now stop acting like a baby and be a good boy. If you want to be treated like a big boy, you have to prove to mommy that you are big. Okay?"

"Fine," he sighs heavily. "But I'm not happy mum-mum!"

"What's going on here? Who's this handsome little guy?" a deep voice asks, and as I glance up to see who it is, the uniformed officer from behind the desk is crouching down in front of the stroller, grimacing as it takes more effort than necessary and his knees crack noisily. "Hey there, squirt. What's your name?"

"Collin," my son answers.

"I'm John," he offers a hand. "John Sullivan. I'm a buddy of your dad's. He works for me."

"You're a special peas-man too?" Collin asks. "You're a defective like daddy?"

"Well I'm not a detective, but I get to boss your dad around day in and day out. And bossing him around makes my job a hundred times better than it already is. He's a cool guy, huh? Your old man? He's pretty cool."

"He's the bestest peas-man in da world!" Collin declares proudly, and shakes the large hand offered to him.

"And I bet you he's going to be the best daddy in the whole world too," Sullivan tells the toddler, then stands up and gives me a smile. "Just call me Sully," he says, and holds his hand out towards me.

"I'm Bree-Anne," I stand up, then curl my fingers around his and shake warmly. "Bree-Anne Tr…"

"I know who you are," he says. "That's one name that doesn't get mentioned around the department anymore. Not unless it involves all kinds of vile profanity. Guess you can understand why your ex bastard…sorry…_husband_…isn't well liked around here. Lots of guys would love to get a piece of him."

"Well they'd have to wait in line," I attempt to lighten the current mood. "Because I have a father and five older brothers that are just itching for the chance to have a go at him."

"Wasn't right what he did," Sully sighs and shakes his head. "Wasn't right at all. I'm not saying that you and Junior were in the rights with what was going down between ya either, but I at least get why you two felt the need to do what you were doing. Dean was…he was a real piece of work."

I nod slowly.

"And it wasn't right either what you got put through on the stand. It took huge balls on your part to testify against him and just air all your dirty laundry like that. The defence should have been shot and pissed off for playing so dirty. You never should have been put through all of that, especially considering you were with child at the time. Wasn't your fault that he was a lying, thieving murderer. You never forced him to do what he did."

"It wasn't Donnie's fault either," I say. "He never should have had to suffer for handing over that log book. I know what the people here put him through and it just wasn't right. He didn't deserve that. I personally think it's the single most brave and respectable thing he's ever done. No one stops to think how hard of a decision it was for him. Or how it messed up his entire life."

"Too many around here too loyal to the badge," Sully grumbles. "Too caught up in the whole 'old boys school' bullshit that exists in the NYPD. This is a different time, a different city. It's no longer honourable and acceptable to keep quiet when you know that a fellow boy in blue is screwing around. Whether he's doctoring his time card or stealing dope and selling it on the street or he's taking perps into back alleys and beating the crap out of him. It goes on, but it doesn't have go unpunished. There's too many dickheads out there without making the badges even bigger ones. Pull crap like that then wonder why no one in the NYPD gets respect? What Junior did…what he did was the right thing."

I nod in agreement.

"Took huge stones to do it," he continues. "Huge. And that kid did not deserve to be treated like he was. He's a helluva cop and he's surpassed daddy by leaps and bounds and he deserves more respect than we he got. Hell, more than what he still gets some days. I've tried telling him, you know. That giving Taylor that book was the right thing to do."

"And he either lets it go in one ear or out the other or he doesn't agree with you," I say.

"Pretty much. He nods a lot, pretends like he's listening or that it doesn't bother him. But…" Sullivan sighs. "But I know it does. I know it still eats at him. And that no matter how many times I pat him on the back and try and convince him that he did the right thing that he'll always see it his way. Junior's always been like that. When he thinks he's right…"

"God forbid you try to change his mind," I finish. "He's been that way since he was fourteen. I don't think anything will ever change that part of him."

"Stubborn as a goddamn mule," Sullivan laughs. "Your boy like that?" he nods down at Collin. "He taking after his old man?"

"In every possible way," I say. "Head to toe, inside and out."

"Quite a handsome little fart," he grins down at Collin. "All that black hair and them blue eyes. You know, I was friends with Senior for a long time. When I was a rookie working out of the three-five, I used to walk the beat with him and Stanton Gerrard. Those two were my mentors, the guys I learned everything off of and would have taken bullets for. We cleaned those streets up. Got rid of all the drug dealers, prostitutes, pimps. Made it a respectable place to live again. I used to go to Senior's place a lot. Dinners, card games, a few beers watching the Rangers or the Mets. And I remember Donnie when he was just knee high to a damn grasshopper. And he looked just like that. Your boy looks just like him. Put your wee one next to a picture of his old man and you'd swear they were the same kid."

"I'm very proud of him," I declare, and smile at my son.

"And daddy is too, trust me. Can't keep that damn smile off of his face and he's got that card you brought in yesterday front and center on his desk. And that picture went into his wallet the second you got it. He's damn proud. May have taken him a couple of years to find his boy, but he sure isn't letting anything slow him down now. And I hope that goes for the two of you, too."

"We're working on things," I admit. "I don't know how long it's going to take or how long the road is going to be, but we're making a legit effort."

"Life is nothing but a long, hard road," Sully declares. "But you know what? It's not how the journey begins of end, kiddo. It's what happens in between. And you and Junior? You and Junior got a whole lot of in between to fill up. Take time to enjoy the trip and appreciate where the two of you are taking each other, okay?"

"Okay," I promise, surprisingly touched by his words.

"But enough rambling from a grumpy old man with way too much snow on the roof. Junior told me you were going to stop by, said to tell you that he's up in the crime lab having a meeting with Taylor and Chief of Detectives Sinclair. Now there's a pompous SOB just between me and you. I swear, he ever becomes commissioner, I'm putting in for my retirement. Which I probably should have done already, but…"

"Do you know what the meeting is about?" I ask curiously, already fearing the worst. "I mean, I know there's a whole confidentiality thing around here and that it's really not any of my business, but I do have this tendency to be way too nosy for my own good and I worry about Donnie and I…"

"All I know is that that media jackass waltzed in here earlier like he owned the place," Sully responds. "You know, the one that has a huge God complex and whose bastard son got a cop killed last year."

I nod and chew on my bottom lip nervously; the mere mention of Robert Dunbrook causes my heart to speed up and my stomach to twist itself into agonizing knots.

"Sinclair was not impressed," Sinclair continues. "I don't know what was about to go down, but he doesn't take any crap from Mr High and Mighty. So whatever it is, trust me, the big cheese has Junior's back all the way."

"That's good," I give a small sigh of relief.

"I'll take you two back to the staff elevators," Sully tells me, then lays a hand on the small of my back and gestures towards the door that leads into the bullpen. "Think you can find your way up to the thirty-fifth floor?"

"I think I'll figure out how to work the elevators," I tease, and stepping behind the stroller, follow behind the grizzled vet.

He gives a chuckle, then pulls the door open and holds it, enabling Collin and I to pass through. "Cute and feisty," he muses. "No wonder Junior can't resist."

* * *

"I want to push it mommy!" Collin wails from the confines of his stroller, as he fights in vain against the restraints as I reach out to hit the button for the thirty-fifth floor. "Let me push it!"

The last word turns into a full out, unbearable shriek and almost immediately my son's cheeks and ears are turning scarlet red, a sure sign that he's about to enter 'devil child temper tantrum mode', and I quickly unbuckle his safety harness and scoop him out of the buggy. I'm still struggling to both cope and properly deal with the odd moments of lingering terrible twos that Collin is inflicted with; where he goes from adorable and well mannered to downright evil, spawn of Satan in the blink of an eye. And my inability to control him and stay firm and strict in the face of adversity is the main reason that I usually avoid taking him to crowded public places. Which in turn, renders grocery and Christmas shopping with Collin in tow totally impossible. My father says that I'm too soft, and I can't even try to deny it. But I do defend my sometimes lax parenting skills on my desire to make up for robbing my son of his father from the moment he'd been conceived.

"You have to promise to be good," I inform Collin, as I settle him on my hip and point to the correct button for him to push. "What do the numbers say?" I ask.

"Tree-five," my son proudly replies, and lays a finger against the button. "I know stuff like dat mum-mum."

"That's because you're very, very, very smart," I praise, and press a kiss to his temple. "You promise you'll be good?" I ask nervously. "Because daddy works here and we don't want him to get in trouble."

God, after two and a half years, it feels so surreal to be able to use the D word and have a smile on my face at the same time. When Collin was just a tiny baby, I'd often sit rocking him in the nursery for hours on end and tell him about his daddy. The real one; not the impostor that was named on the birth certificate. And I'd cry as I talked about how his dad was tall, dark and handsome and had always made me feel like a princess. And how he was strong and brave and that I wished that we could all be together.

"I pwomise," Collin answers my question. "I pwomise I be good."

I sigh, knowing full well that my version of good and Collin's are two totally different things.

We travel the remaining floors in silence, and the closer we get the more and more excited Collin becomes; his blue eyes sparkling and dancing as he watches the progress of the numbers above the elevator door, his tiny legs kicking impatiently against me. He's become less of a baby with each passing day, and it slightly saddens and unnerves me to realize just how quickly he's growing up right before my very eyes. That while it seems like just yesterday that the delivery room nurse was passing that tightly swaddled, tiny, black haired baby to me for the very first time, in a couple of years he'll be heading off to school.

And I'm just not prepared for the independence, and the attitude, that will accompany each birthday he'll celebrate.

"Now you hold onto the stroller," I instruct Collin, as we finally arrive at our destination and I set him on the ground. "Do not let go. At all. Do you have to go pee?"

"You asked me dat five times already!" he cries in exasperation. "I tell you if I gots to go, okay?"

"Hey!" I glare down at him. "Don't be getting all Mister Smarty Pants with me, young man. You don't talk to mommy like that, got it?"

He looks up at me with this huge eyes and gives me the infamous pout, and I struggle to stand my ground. "I'm sorry, mum-mum…" he finally caves in when he realizes I'm not fooling around. "I be a good boy, 'kay?"

"Okay…" I say warily, as the elevator doors slide open and we step out into the hustle and bustle of the New York City crime lab. Techs in white lab coats rushing down the halls and weaving in and out of pedestrian traffic, detectives in suits and ties flipping through case folders and going over particulars with uniformed officers, the incessant ringing of both cell and desk phones. It's a three ring circus; although a well oiled machine at the same time.

"Whoa…." Collin's eyes widen as he surveys the excitement. "Cool, mum-mum! Is Lucy's daddy here?"

"I don't know if…" I don't even get the chance to finish my sentence, and I watch as Collin's hand slips off the side of his stroller and then reach for him just as he bolts; my fingers just brushing against the back of his t-shirt as he manages to elude capture. "Collin!" I bellow, as I watch his tiny body squeeze through the sea of humanity.

Every eye in the place turns to look at me; shaking their heads and whispering about the frazzled and irresponsible mother that just unleashed a thirty pound terror on the place. I remind myself not to panic as I hurriedly park the stroller against the nearest wall and chase after my son. After all, this is an NYPD building and there's cops from one end of the place to other. Collin isn't about to get scooped up by a stranger and whisked out of the building without anyone seeing it.

I catch site of him; the top of that Mets cap swerving in and out of bodies. He's a mini linebacker hell bent on destruction, and my main fear is that he'll manage to get himself into one of the labs and either completely destroy the place and cause an insurmountable amount of damage, or get into some kind of weird ass chemical that will dye his hair green or cause him to grow another head or even a tail.

His runners make a loud squeaking noise as he suddenly halts in his tracks, takes a sharp left and hurries towards one of the offices and commences slamming the palms of his hands against the glass door.

"DADDEEEE!" he yells, and continues to pound on the glass. "Hi, daddy!"

"Jesus Christ, Collin!" I exclaim, noticing through the glass as everyone inside of the office turns to look at the little boy that has put an abrupt halt on an obviously very important meeting.

Danny, as he sits on the arm of a brown vinyl couch, puts both of his hands over his face as he attempts -poorly- to hide his amusement. I also see a grin tugging at the corner of Donnie's mouth as he stands with his arms crossed over his chest at the front of a stern faced Mac Taylor's desk. I recognize Brigham Sinclair from a newspaper article about sexual harassment that had surfaced around the same time as Donnie's run in with the spies. And of course, I already know who Robert Dunbrook is; the furious glare that he shoots me chills me to the bone.

"Hi daddy!" Collin yells. "Hi Lucy's daddy! Hi Uncle Bobby!"

"Whoa there little man…" a lab tech , clad in a pair of baggy cargo pants, tan and black Vans sneakers, and a red, blue and white plaid short sleeved shirt un-tucked and unbuttoned over a Grateful Dead t-shirt effortlessly scoops Collin off of the ground. "You can't go in there…that's just a whole bunch of boring adult stuff going on in there."

"Oh my God…I am so sorry…" I lay my hands alongside of my flushed, humiliated face. "I didn't think that he'd do that…he's usually not that bad and I…"

"No worries," the young man assures me, and gives me a charming smile. "Just thought I'd cut him off at the pass. You know, before big, bad wolf Sinclair comes out here and eats him as an afternoon snack. You don't want to go in there, buddy," he says to Collin, as he places my son on his hip. "That's just a whole lot of crabby people in there. You want to stay out here with all of us nice, friendly guys, right?"

Collin nods and curls an arm around the tech's neck. "That's daddy!" he cries, and points towards the office.

"I know…but daddy's in the middle of some top secret police business and I'm in the middle of some cool science experiments. Wouldn't you rather see me blow up a toilet with dry ice than listen to a bunch of cops talk shop?"

"Blow up a toilet?" Collin's eyes grow wide.

"Yeah…I'm going to blow it up real good…KA-BLAM…just like in the comic books…if your mom says it's okay, you can stand outside and watch through the window while I do it. Does that sound like fun?"

"Can I, mum-mum?" my son asks. "Can I go watch? I want to go see the potty blow up. I want to…daddy!" he squeals and reaches his arms out as a familiar face pokes his head out of the office door.

"I am so sorry…" I shake my head in disbelief. "I didn't think that he'd do that, Donnie. I didn't think he'd take off like he did and cause so much hell."

"It's alright," he assures me, although his ashen face and his furious eyes tell a different story. That whatever has been going on behind closed doors is anything but alright. "Ross, you mind taking them down to the lunch room?"

"We're actually going to go and blow up a toilet," the lab tech says. Then gives a sheepish smile as Donnie glares at him. "It's in the name of science," he quickly adds. "Just shove a little dry ice and there and flush and…never mind…"

"Potty go KA-BLAM!" Collin cries excitedly. "You come too, daddy? You come watch?"

"I'll come and watch in a little bit," Donnie promises. "Right now I just have a couple of things I need to do. You go with the mad scientist here and he'll keep you entertained until I'm done, okay? Then you and your mommy and I can go to lunch."

"Chicken 'uggets!" our son exclaims.

"Mmmm…." the tech rubs his stomach. "Chicken 'uggets are my favourite. I get lots of sweet and sour sauce with mine. So I can dip the fries in it."

"Me too!" Collin breathes, in complete awe of his new buddy.

"You know, if you really want to meet a mad scientist I could take you downstairs to meet Sid and he could show you…"

"Ross!" Donnie barks, and shake his head. "No showing my kid any DB's, okay?"

"Okay…we'll have to wait until you're at least five," the young man says to Collin. "I'm joking…" he assures Donnie. "I'm seriously just joking,"

"Just…" my boyfriend sighs heavily. "Just entertain him. Without blood and guts."

"Gotcha. Without the gross stuff. No problem."

"Is it really going that bad in there?" I ask, as I capture Donnie by the wrist as he attempts to shut the door.

"Nothing you need to worry about," he replies, presses a kiss to my cheek and then steps back into the office.

"Why is it when they tell you not to worry, it only makes you worry even more?" I muse out loud.

"Because men are cryptic like that," the lab tech replies, then gives me an apologetic smile. "I'm Adam…" he offers a hand. "Adam Ross. You're Bree-Anne, right?"

I nod and shake his hand.

"I remember seeing you on the news and in the paper a few years back," he explains. "You know, when the whole trial was on and you testified against Dean and then it all came out that you and Flack were…well, you know…you don't need a play by play from me…anyway…this is the famous Little Flack, huh?" he bounces Collin against his hip. "You look just like your dad, you know that? Exactly like him. You going to be a policeman when you grow up?"

Collin shakes his head.

"No?" Adam frowns. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"You!" my son cries. "So I can blow up potties!"

"My own protégé!" Adam cries. "About time I get some respect around here. How about we go and get a snack first though? How does a snack sound? You like apple juice and celery sticks with peanut butter on them?"

"Me loves them!" Collin shrieks.

"A mini me!" Adam gives a dramatic, maniacal laugh. "Is that okay, mom? A little apple juice? Some celery sticks with peanut butter?" he asks hopefully. I don't know who has the better pleading, puppy dog eyes. Him or my son.

"I'll catch up," I reply, and give a warm smile. "You two be good."

"Now what fun is there in that?" Adam asks, then gives me a playful wink before he turns on his heel and heads off with my son clasped tightly in his embrace. "You're a chick magnet kid!" he exclaims gleefully, when every female he passes on his way to the break room stops to ask who the 'adorable little boy is'.

Laughing, I turn to journey back to where I'd abandoned Collin's stroller.

And try desperately to ward off the feeling of dread at the sound of raised voices and profanities that are spilling out of Mac Taylor's office.

* * *

**Massive thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and even just lurking! I appreciate all of the amazing support!!**

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	22. I Will Be

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS**

**A/N: ALL I GOTTA SAY IS THIS; SCRUFFY, CASUAL FLACK DOES NAUGHTY THINGS TO ME. JUST THOUGHT I'D SHARE THAT…**

* * *

**I Will Be**

"There's nothing I could say to you  
Nothing I could ever do to make you see  
What you mean to me  
All the pain, the tears I cried  
Still you never said goodbye and now I know  
How far you'd go

I know I let you down but it's not like that now  
This time I'll never let you go

I will be all that you want and get myself together  
'Cause you keep me from falling apart  
All my life, I'll be with you forever  
To get you through the day and make everything okay

I thought that I had everything  
I didn't know what life could bring  
But now I see, honestly  
You're the one thing I got right  
The only one I let inside  
Now I can breathe 'cause you're here with me

And if I let you down, I'll turn it all around  
'Cause I would never let you go."  
-I Will Be, Leona Lewis

* * *

"Looks like we have a couple of issue we need to discuss," Sinclair says, as Danny and I silently file into Mac's office.

As my best friend perches himself on the arm of the faux leather couch alongside of the door and commences to anxiously tap the case folder clutched tightly in his right hand against his knee, Mac graces us both with a grim attempt at a smile from behind his desk. I'm not sure exactly what he's pissed off about. Whether it's the fact he feels that we're wasting his valuable time, or that he has to content with both Sinclair _and_ Dunbrook. What I am sure about is that Breezy's case, from an NYPD stand point, was handled with kid gloves and that Danny had done everything by the book when it came to both questioning and processing both her and Collin. And I can only trust him and Scottie when they say that they dealt with Phil's arrest properly.

I lean back against the wall next to the sofa and cross my arms over my chest and place the bottom of my foot against the glass; an act of both defiance and confidence.

"Now, Mister Dunbrook!" Sinclair orders from the open doorway, and jerks his head in our direction as the media mogul lingers in the hallway bellowing into his cell phone at some poor bastard on the other end. "I don't have all day," the Chief of Detectives adds, as Dunbrook disconnects his call and stomps past him into the office. "I happen to be a busy man too."

"Detective Taylor…" Dunbrook greets, as he tucks his cell phone into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. "Long time no see."

"Not long enough," Mac retorts, and leaning back in his chair, laces his fingers together and places them behind his head. "I'd honestly been hopeful that I'd go the rest of my career without having to see you anywhere near my office again."

"And you wouldn't have had to if your team of never ending fuck ups hadn't have pissed in my front yard," Dunbrook growled. "Your people are barking up the wrong damn tree, Taylor. And I'm not going to just sit back and let it happen."

"What? Your boy Phil can't fight his own battles?" Danny gives a derisive snort. "Needs his surrogate daddy to do it for him? Or are you smooching his ass 'cause you need a replacement for Connor?"

Dunbrook glares at the CSI. "You've got a smart mouth kid. You had better learn to keep it shut unless you want someone knocking it clear off your face. Your not playing with the school yard bully from the ghetto in Brooklyn, son."

"I take offence to that," Danny says with a frown. "It happens to be the ghetto in Staten Island."

"Detective Messer…" Sinclair sighs heavily and holds up a hand in a silent plead for calm. "Now is not the time for off handed comments or insults. We've got a very serious situation on our hands here and…"

"And I'd like to know what is actually going on," Mac speaks up. "I get a call ten minutes ago from you Chief and you all but demanded a few minutes of my time. I didn't expect you to be bringing guests with you. Or that you'd be hauling one of my team up on the carpet for something I have no knowledge about. So how about all of you…" his eyes fall on Dunbrook. "…quit pissing in my yard and tell what the hell is going on."

"These two…" Dunbrook nods his head in the direction of the sofa. "Decided to go all Starsky and Hutch and storm their way into my godson's office and arrest him on bogus charges. Embarrass him in front of his colleagues, subordinates, high profile clients, members of the general clients."

"Starsky and Hutch," Danny mutters, and looking up at me, flashes his trademark grin. "Paging Terrence Davis."

"And now they have the damn nerve to sit here and practically laugh in my face!" Dunbrook's chest heaves and his body trembles from the rage coursing through him. And if it wasn't for that ridiculous hair of his -I swear he has the same stylist of wig maker as the Donald- I'd almost be taking him seriously.

Since that day in his office when Mac practically undressed him while sticking up for me, I've found it exceptionally hard to take the asshole seriously. I've known a lot of guys like him in my time. People of tremendous influence and power who get their kicks off of issuing threats and practicing the art of intimidating yet very rarely follow through. And he may think he can terrify a single mother from Queens with a shit load of skeletons ready to tumble out of her closet, but he's fucking with the wrong guy if he thinks he's going to mess with my family.

"This is a very serious situation gentlemen," Sinclair reminds us as he plops down on the edge of Mac's desk. "And I'd like to get to the bottom of it sometime this century."

"They walked into my godson's place of business as if they owned the place!" Dunbrook yells. "They handcuffed him in front of everyone as if he's a common criminal."

"Maybe because he is!" Danny snaps. "Maybe because your little golden boy gets his rocks off by beating on women and kids. And where I come from? That's not just cause to be tossed in lock up, but to get your ass kicked by real men who take offence to that sort of thing."

"Real men," Dunbrook smirks. "If that's what you can call some two bit hood who thinks working for the NYPD and wearing that badge on his belt makes up for the fact that his family has ties to organized crime. Who's own brother has the mental capacity of a toddler and shits in a bag and eats through a tube because he messed with the wrong people. Don't think that that badge and that chip on your shoulder makes you any better than the rest of your family, kid."

"And you think you're any better than the rest of us?" I challenge, pushing myself away from the wall. "That you can just walk in here and…"

Danny's on his feet and a shot and laying a hand on my arm to keep me calm. He knows that I have more to lose than he does by going toe to toe with Dunbrook, and that my temper and mental state at the moment are bordering on extremely fragile. He's trying to both protect me, and keep me from digging myself a massive grave I'll never be able to climb out of. Suddenly, the tables are turned. I'm the fractured, wounded one that needs the help and he's the one putting it all out on the line by stepping up to the plate.

"You know, if I was the same man I was a couple years ago, I'd be tossing this badge…" Danny nods down to the shield clipped to the waist of jeans. "…on Mac's desk and telling him to shove the job just so I could take you outside and show you what a kid from the Staten Island ghetto can do to you, grandpa. So lucky for you that the little shard of bullet lodged near my spine has messed with my personality."

"You terrify me," Dunbrook rolls his eyes. "Is this the kind of people you have working for you, Taylor? Snot nose, punk ass kids who…"

"This is bullshit," I declare. "What are we doing? Playing who's the bigger man by tossing threats back and forth? How about we just cut to the goddamn chase?" I snatch the case folder out of Danny's hands, flip it open and begin tossing the photographs Danny had taken the night before on Mac's desk. "Last night Bobby's godson decided to show how much of a man he is and beat on Bree-Anne and Collin. She showed up at my parents' place looking for help and when my dad called me, I asked Danny to do the processing because I knew Bree-Anne would feel comfortable around him."

"Conflict of interest," Dunbrook says. "He's personally involved with the supposed victims and…"

"And he had every right to call in the authorities to take care of his family," Sinclair interjects, as he turns to get a look at the pictures that Mac is currently leafing through. "And before you toss the whole restraining order in Detective Flack's face, it was trumped up and you know it. Your godson bought that order and believe me, when I get a hold of the judge that agreed to it, there's going to hell to pay."

"There were witnesses when you processed?" Mac asks, glancing up at Danny.

"Flack was in the room when I looked after both Bree-Anne and Collin," my best friend confirms.

"Those pictures could be fakes!" Dunbrook cries. "The three of them could be in on this together!"

"My team does not manufacture evidence," Mac informs him.

"I guess you've permanently erased the name Aiden Burn from your memory?" Dunbrook snarls.

"And these photographs are legit," Mac continues, not falling for the bait. "I have no reason to believe that either Detective Messer or Detective Flack would conspire against your godson to make him look like anything more than what he actually is."

"They got into an argument!" Dunbrook fumed. "Phil and Bree-Anne got into an argument and he lost his temper and…"

"And that's no excuse for assaulting someone," Mac interrupts. "Especially a woman and especially a child."

"Lowest of the low in my books," Danny pipes up. Then holds his hands up in surrender as Sinclair gives a stern glare in warning.

"The child almost fell off the bed and Phil grabbed him by the arm to prevent him from getting seriously hurt!" Dunbrook argues.

I give a dry laugh. "What next?" I ask. "You going to tell us that something fell of a shelf and hit her on the back of the head and that's how she got the bump back there? Are you going to tell us that those bruises around her neck are from someone else's hands?"

"Well now that you bring it up, where were you yesterday afternoon, Detective?" Dunbrook asks. "Seeing as you're the one with post traumatic stress disorder and an apparent drinking problem. Too things I'm pretty sure might come into play when you lose your temper and you lash out on people."

Sinclair has to step in front of me to prevent me from going after the sonofabitch.

"Exactly my point!" Dunbrook explains. "He's obviously unhinged! It was probably his fingers that made those marks around her neck and…"

"And you are way out line," Sinclair angrily informs him. "Detective Flack's personal issues are none of your business and I can assure you that he's of sound mind and body. And that he was at worked, clocked in, when this incident involving Bree-Anne Truby and her son went down yesterday."

"We can match the bruises on her neck to your godson's fingers," Mac adds, as he shuffles the pictures together, places them back inside the case folder and closes. "If you'd rather we embarrassed him even more by proving you both wrong in front of everyone…"

"And in Flack's defence, he was not present at the arrest," Danny speaks up. "He had tagged along, but he came to his senses and realized that being there might cause some problems so he left and came back here. We can always check out the security tapes from the office building to prove that he was leaving as the arrest was going down."

"That's not necessary," Sinclair says. "His time sheet confirms he was back behind his desk while the perp in question was being processed at Central Booking."

"The perp?" Dunbrook rages. "The perp? My godson is not a perp!"

"Actually," Mac remains calm. "That's exactly what he is. And according to the evidence that Detective Messer has gathered, I'd say we have a pretty good case to take the district attorney."

"And one for blackmail too," I add, and Dunbrook frowns as both Mac and Sinclair's eyebrows shoot up. "Apparently Bobby hear decided to give Bree-Anne a call this morning," I continue. "Tried to scare her into dropping the charges. Threatened her that if she didn't do exactly what she said, that he'd air some of her dirty laundry. You going to stand there and deny that, Bobby? 'Cause I can always ask her to give Mac her cell phone. She taped the entire thing."

"That sneaky little bitch…" he mutters, and I'm hoping he doesn't realize that I'm lying about the taping part. I've never had a great poker face, and I've always been an even worse liar. "I just wanted her to realize that this doesn't have to go to trial," he says. "That Phil is remorseful for what he did and that he was more than willing to give her some sort of compensation to…"

"Money, you mean," I smirk. "Buy her silence."

"A peace offering!" Dunbrook angrily corrects. "That's all it was!"

"Sure…" Danny snorts and nods slowly as he takes a seat on the arm of the couch once again. "I bet it was…"

"If Bree-Anne Truby wants to press charges then the department will support her a hundred percent," Sinclair says. "We're here to protect and to serve. She and her son were both victims of an assault and they deserve some kind of justice. And seeing as she's frightened of him, I'm also making sure that that restraining order her lawyer issued sticks. He's a threat. Plain and simple."

"I can assure you that Phil isn't going to go anywhere near her," Dunbrook retorts. "He doesn't need to have a restraining order against him. He'll stay away willingly. He's done slumming and…"

"You know what…" I finally snap and make a lunge at the older man, only to have Sinclair once again cut me off at the pass. He lays his hands on my chest and shoves me backwards, looming over me when the back of my legs hit the couch and I fall back on my ass. "If you know what's good for you Flack, you'll keep your goddamn mouth shut, hear me? Just keep it shut."

"What kind of Mickey Mouse operation are you running around here, Taylor?" Dunbrook gives a chuckle. "How many unstable people do you employ? Do you purposefully going looking for the ones with a few screws loose or…"

Mac opens his mouth to respond, only to have all words and thoughts get lost in the shuffle when a high-pitched shriek erupts from the hallway outside of his office.

"DADDEEEE!" Collin's voice cuts through the tension in the room and is accompanied by the sound of his hands slamming repeatedly against the glass. "Hi daddy!"

Danny and I both look over our shoulders in time to see my son waving excitedly, a broad smile plastered across his face. My best friend can't hold back the laugh that erupts from him, and he turns back around, covers his face with his hands, and shakes his head.

"Hi daddy!" Collin continues, much to both my amusement, and my embarrassment. "Hi Lucy's daddy! Hi Uncle Bobby!"

It literally makes me nauseous that my kid has been calling that scumbag his uncle, and if it's the last thing I do, I vow to myself to keep both Breezy and Collin as far away from Robert Dunbrook as possible. For the rest of their lives. They're simply too good and too innocent to be mixed up with the likes of him, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure that he's never a part of their lives ever again.

"Detective Flack," Sinclair address me. "As adorable as your son is, do you mind…?"

"Taking care of things?" I ask and clamber to my feet. "Sure thing, Chief. Just give me a second…"

Danny's entire body is trembling and he's making a snorting noise behind his hands as I step past him to get to the door.

This is one moment I'll never live down.

* * *

"Sorry about that…" I apologize several minutes later, as I step back into Mac's office and shut the door behind me.

Collin's interruption has managed to calm me down considerably and has convinced my brain that lashing out on Dunbrook, no matter what kind of idiotic and disgusting thing he might say about Breezy and Collin, is not the way to handle things. That lowering myself to his level will only add fuel to the fire and make things far more complicated than necessary when, and if, Phil's case ever goes to trial.

"Everything's okay?" Danny asks, as I take a seat beside him once again.

"As good as can be expected when my kid is on his way to watch Ross blow up a john," I reply.

"Just be thankful he isn't taking him down to the basement and introducing him to uncle Sid and all the stiffs," my best friend muses, and gives me a playfully nudge with his elbow. "That would go either two ways. He could turn into the murder police when he's older or a serial killer."

"Or give him nightmares for the rest of us life," I sigh.

"Now that we can get this back on track…" Sinclair says, and clears his throat noisily. "As I was saying earlier Mr Dunbrook, this charges have been laid and this lab has enough evidence to go to the DA's office. So I suggest that you and your godson call one of your high priced attorneys and start putting together his case."

"This is outrageous," Dunbrook breathes and shakes his head in disbelief. "That all of you would take the side of a woman who not only humiliated herself and her family four years ago the first time she testified in a trial against her husband none the less…"

"Ex husband," Mac corrects. "They're divorced now. And one has nothing to do with the other. Bree-Anne testified as a witness for the District Attorney because she held valuable information on Dean Truby's behaviour and his violent history. She took the stand because we asked her to. Because she didn't want him getting away with stealing drugs from an NYPD raid or killing an innocent kid. Because unlike some people in this room, she has a conscience."

"A conscience!?" Dunbrook laughs. "How much of a conscience does someone have when they're having an affair with one of their husband's colleges? When they get pregnant and they don't know who the father of their baby is? When they both lie on the birth certificate and about results of a DNA test. How much of a conscience could someone like that have?"

"She did what she had to do to protect her son," Mac angrily responds.

"So did I," Dunbrook retorts. "Yet I'm reviled for it and she's praised? What kind of double standard is that? How far do you think this case will get, Taylor? How serious do you think the jury will take her when she gets up there on the stand? Knowing what a shameful display she put on the last time?"

"The only shameful display is what you're putting on in this office," Sinclair declares. "The charges and that restraining order are here to stay and that's final. Is everyone clear on that?"

Every head in the room nods. Albeit reluctantly -and accompanied by a whole lot of grumbling- on Dunbrook's part.

"Now I don't want to hear anymore about this, understand me?" Sinclair shouts a foul look at each of us. "As far as I'm concerned, this matter is closed and I don't want to hear a goddamn peep out of anyone about it. If the DA sees fit to prosecute, than that's that. And Detective Flack…"

I look over at him.

"I have no objections to jeans and t-shirts if you're called out to a scene in the middle of the night and haven't gotten the chance to change, but it's almost one in the afternoon and the NYPD does not practice casual Fridays."

"Understood, sir," I say with a nod.

"Now if you'll all excuse me…" Sinclair yanks on the bottom of his black suit jacket in order to straighten it, and then heads for the door. A clear signal that we've all been dismissed and he's through with all discussions and arguments. As Mac gives a heavy sigh and returns to his work, Danny and I slowly rise from the couch and head for the exit. And as a hand falls on my shoulder, I glance behind me and find myself immersed a staring contest, a battle of wills, with Robert Dunbrook.

"While your loyalty for a woman that lied to you and kept your son from you for nearly three years is admirable," he begins. "But it's also very, very foolish. No woman is worth destroying your integrity and sacrificing your livelihood."

"You gonna trash talk his girl to his face?" Danny asks. "You actually talk shit and threaten him?"

"What is going on now?" Sinclair demands to know, one foot already out in the hallway as Mac, sensing trouble, comes to stand beside me in a show of solidarity.

"I'm not destroying or sacrificing anything," I inform Dunbrook. "And she's not just some woman. She's the love of my life. The mother of my child."

"Well how very sweet and romantic of you, Detective. I hope that she feels the same kind of undying, passionate love for you as well. And that she'll stick by you when you become the second man in her life to end up in prison."

"You're a fucking nut job," Danny declares, then grabs a hold of my upper left arm. "Let's go Flack. Ignore this sorry ass SOB. He's just trying to goad you into doing something stupid. Don't give him that satisfaction, a'right?"

"I hope she's worth it," Dunbrook remarks, as Sinclair steps aside into order to let Danny and I slip past him. "I hope she's worth all the heartache that your deep, dark secret is going to cause you."

I halt in my tracks and closing my eyes briefly, take a deep breath and release it slowly.

"Don't let him get to you," Danny whispers. "Don't let him…"

I yank my arm out of his grasp and turning on my heel, storm back to where Dunbrook is lingering by Mac's door, his cell phone already out as he punches in a number and informs the crime lab boss and Sinclair that "the shit is about to hit the fan." I'm sure as hell not going to let the bastard get one up on me, and snatching the phone out of his possession, disconnect the call.

"My dirty little secret?" I inquire. "The one that you're so hell bent on letting it 'cause for some reason you think it will make your boy Phil seem less like a mother-fucking sonofabitch? That secret?"

Dunbrook smirks; I want nothing more than to knock it clear off of his face.

"Well let me give you the straight goods," I continue. "On the record. All the news that's fit to print. I killed Simon Cade. He was already severely injured and bleeding profusely when I caught up to him in the boiler room that day. He was lying there like a pathetic piece of shit that deserved to be put out of its misery. He'd murdered a cop, I was pissed off, my adrenaline was pumpin'…"

"A cop that was your girlfriend," Dunbrook tosses out.

"…and I stood over him and I shot him," I finish. "I killed him. And you know what? I'd do it again if push came to shove."

I see the startled glances that Mac and Sinclair exchange and feel Danny's quiet, comforting presence at my side.

"Hell of a story," Dunbrook says. "How does it feel to be a murderer, Detective?"

"He didn't murder anyone," Sinclair responds for me. "The department is fully aware that he shot Simon Cade. The bullet that we pulled out of the bastard's head in autopsy was matched to his service weapon. He shot Cade in self-defence. He was a cop killer; the scum of the earth. And when Detective Taylor and his people found the body after Detective Flack left the scene, Cade's weapon was in his hand. He would have killed a second cop that day had my detective…" the Chief lays a firm hand on my shoulder. "…not pulled that trigger."

I hope that I don't look as shocked as I feel, and I realize now that Sinclair had most likely put his hand on me to keep me calm, to prevent me from reacting in the wrong way.

"And you actually believe that?" Dunbrook asks incredulously.

"I believe the evidence that Detective Taylor and his team presented me with," Sinclair replies. "So unless you've got some other dirt on Detective Flack, we're done here. Don't let me catch wind of you harassing him, Bree-Anne Truby or their little boy, Robert. Or you'll find your ass in Rikers where you should have been years ago. Now do I need to have someone see you out or are you capable of getting to the elevator yourself?"

Dunbrook gives a loud snort of disgust and shakes his head. "You keep a close eye on our family, Detective," he warns me. "I'd hate for something…_random_…to happen to them."

I just smirk, then watch with an immense feeling of satisfaction as Sinclair takes a firm hold of Dunbrook's elbow and leads him away.

"Are you alright?" Mac asks, concern evident in his voice and eyes.

"I will be," I reply. "Guess I just needed to get all of that out. Actually say the words, you know? I still got a long way to go, but I'm going to be okay."

"Anything you need Don," he says, then pats me on the shoulder. "Door's always open. Remember that, okay?"

I nod my thanks.

"Go and see your family," Mac gently orders. "Because that's what's going to get you through all the hard and dark days that are still ahead of you."

"Thanks," I manage through the lump of emotion threatening to choke off my airway.

It's been a hell of a forty-eight hours, let alone a year. But for once I can see the light at the end of the tunnel; some kind of break in that dark, desolate cloud that's been hanging over my head. Admitting what I'd done to Cade in front of Sinclair had not only let Dunbrook know that I wasn't simply going to roll over and play dead, but had done my wounded conscious a world of good.

"And try to track down Stella," Mac says, as he heads back into his office. "She'll want to meet the kid that's responsible for Sinclair cracking a smile for once in his life."

I grin, still somewhat embarrassed over Collin's antics. Although now, after seeing how he'd so easily and successfully -and unknowingly- diffused a potentially volatile situation, I'm considering rewarding him instead of scolding him.

"I seriously need a whole bottle of anti-anxiety meds after that," Danny remarks, as we head side by side down the hall towards the break room. "'Cause that was seriously…I don't know…that was…wow."

I nod in agreement. "Why didn't you tell me?" I ask.

"About what?" he inquires. "What you talking about?"

"Simon Cade," I reply. "Why didn't you tell me that you put the gun in his hand. And don't tell me you didn't, Danny. 'Cause I know full well that when I'd left him, that gun was nowhere near him."

"You're on a need to know basis," Danny tells me. "And you don't need to know, a'right?"

I stop walking and grab him by the forearm. "I'm being serious here," I say. "Why…?"

"You didn't need to know, Flack. What difference would it have made had I told you? There was already one huge secret we were sharing, there didn't need to be another. When I walked in there and I saw first hand what you'd done…well I knew you'd be thrown under the bus for sure. I knew that IAB would be all over you like flies on shit. And that this time you wouldn't have come away from a sit-in with them vultures in one piece. You would have lost your job; ended up in Sing-Sing yourself. So I did what I had to do. To protect you."

I nod slowly as his words sink in.

"You've always been there for me," he reasons. "Time and time again. You've always had my back and it was finally my time to do something for you. Simple as."

"You didn't need to, Danny."

"No. I didn't," he agrees. Then gives me a grin. "But I wanted to."

I sniffle noisily and force myself to look away from him.

"Don't be making me get all misty eyed here," he chides. "I did what any best friend would do. It's been a long year, Don. A fuck of a long year. And maybe now…well maybe now we can close that chapter and move on to another."

"I hope so," I clear my throat noisily. "I really hope so."

"You've got a whole new life ahead of you," Danny says. "Someone that loves you, a little boy that depends on you. It's time to concentrate on them and put Jess and everything that happened to her behind you. It's time, Don. You know that. You deserve that. And so do Bree-Anne and Collin."

I nod in agreement.

"And the first step in getting on with your new life with them? Find your son before Ross traumatizes him for life."

"Apparently, they're going to blow up a toilet," I say, as we continue down the hallway once more.

"The old dry ice trick, huh? Perfect entertainment for a two and a half year old. Excuse me…a soon to be three year old. You know what that means, huh? Birthday party time. We'll get Montana and Bree-Anne together, let them plan it all out. Gives me an excuse to go out and buy some boy stuff. Some hockey shit and a Yankees jersey and…"

"Hey…he's a Mets fan like his old man," I inform my best friend.

"Means he didn't just get his looks from you, but your bad taste too," Danny laughs, slaps my arm playfully and then hangs a sharp left into the trace lab. "Go Yankees!" he bellows.

I laugh, shake my head and continue on my chartered course.

The one that will lead me to my family.

* * *

Breezy's alone in the lunch room when I finally arrive, leaning back against the counter by the sink and sipping what I assume is a tea out of an oversized orange porcelain mug. And she glances up and gives me a smile that causes her eyes to sparkle and the corners of them to crinkle. That smile just does wonders for me to be honest. Especially when I think about how I'd almost gone the rest of my life never seeing it again.

"Hey…" she says, as I cross the room and stand in front of her. "I was starting to wonder if you'd ever…"

I reach out, and plucking the mug from her grasp, reach around her to set it on the counter. Then laying my hand on the back of her neck, forcibly yank her into a kiss. She fails to react at first; her arms lax at her sides as her brain tries to wrap itself around the suddenness of the moment and I'm certain she's worried that my unabashed show of public affection will become fodder for workplace gossip the second the kiss ends. I curl my free arm around her waist and pull her even closer, and it's then that I feel her place her hands on my chest and she finally kisses me back.

"Wow…okay…" she manages when our moment comes to an end, her eyes still closed and our chests heaving and hearts pounding in our chests. "That was very…_nice_."

"Nice?" I laugh and slide the hand on the back of her neck to the side of her face, where I push loose tendrils of hair behind her ear and trace her top lip with my thumb. "That just warrants a nice?"

"It warrants finding an empty supply closet somewhere," she says, and her eyes widen and her cheeks flush. "Did I really just say that?" she asks, and giggles.

"You did," I reply, and press a kiss to her forehead. "I guess I just needed to…I don't know…I guess I just needed to do that."

She smiles up at me and runs her hands over my chest and across my shoulders. "That's okay," she says, and I graze my fingertips across her smooth cheek. "'Cause I really needed you to do that. How did everything go in your meeting?" she asks. "I really am sorry that Collin did what he did. I never thought that he'd…"

"Let's get married," I blurt out.

Breezy's eyes widen. "Married?" she squeaks out. "As in…"

"As in husband and wife. As in 'til death to us part, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health," I say. "As in spending the rest of our lives together. Having more kids, watching our kids have kids, spending our golden years sitting side by side in rocking chairs bitching at each other and having nothing better to talk about then the weather an how we drive each other crazy."

"Married?" she asks once more. "We've only been back together for…"

"A couple days," I finish for her. "If that. But it's not like we're complete strangers that just met, babe. If things hadn't have gone down like they did when we were teenagers, we would have been married for fifteen years now. And even if we hadn't had gotten married then, if the shit with Dean hadn't had happened…"

"There's no way of telling any of that, Donnie. There's no way of saying for sure what would have happened if things hadn't have gotten in the way."

"We would have been together," I insist. "We both know it. We would have been a family already, Breezy. There wouldn't have been the nearly four years we spend apart. There wouldn't have been…"

"There might not have been a Collin," she softly interjects. "If things had have gone exactly the way we'd wanted it to years ago, he probably wouldn't be here. Because we would have no doubt had other kids. He was conceived during the whole mess with Dean, Donnie. And if none of that had have happened…well Collin wouldn't be here. I believe that in my heart of hearts. That we went through what we did so that God would give him to us. That can be the only reason why we had to suffer like that. And it's a damn good reason. Because I can't imagine my life without him…and I…"

Her voice trails off and I see the tears that threatened as she glances to her left. And when I look over at what has captured her attention, I smile at the sight of our son, the baby we'd managed to conceive during a dark and trying time in our lives, as he sits on Adam's lap in the AV lab. Collin's eyes are wide and his attention is riveted on the screen in front of him, and his tiny Mets cap is perched precariously on the top of the lab tech's head.

"And I don't want to imagine my life without him." Breezy finally finishes, and looks back at me. "He's all that I had of you, Donnie. He's the only thing that kept me close to you."

"I get that," I say. "I can accept that. But I'm back now, babe. I'm back and I'm not going anywhere. And after everything we've been through, right from when we were teenagers…after all of that we deserve to be together. We deserve to have a life. A family. The whole nine yards. We didn't get it the first two times around. But we have the chance now. And the third time's the charm, right?"

"But so soon?" she asks. "I mean we've just…"

"Think about it, babe. It's not soon at all if we think about how long this…I don't know…this bond has existed between us. I've loved you since I was fourteen years old. You think I wanted to let you get away when we were eighteen? That I wanted to let you get away a second time when we were thirty?"

She shakes her head. "And I never wanted it to end either but…"

"How can there be a but?" I ask. "How can this be anything but right? Nothing that feels this amazing can be wrong. We have this amazing chance to make things right this time. And why wait to do that? Why wait when we really don't want to?"

She chews nervously at her bottom lip. "Our families," she says. "Our friends, your colleagues…"

"You don't think they want this for us? You don't think they're all rooting for us? They are, babe. Trust me. And if someone thinks that it's sudden or too soon and that we're making a mistake? Well that's their business. As long as it feels right to us, who cares what other people think?"

She sighs heavily, her soulful brown eyes never leaving my baby blues; I can see the wheels turning in her head. Practically hear the gears grinding as her mind works overtime.

"I love you," she whispers. "I've always loved you."

"Marry me," I say, and take her tiny face in my hands. "Just say yes, Breezy…" I speak between feathery kisses that I press against her lips. "Just say you'll marry me. That this is our time. That it's _finally _our time."

She places her hands alongside of my face, then stands on her tiptoes and kisses me softly. And her gaze never wavers from mine as she runs the tips of her fingers across the tops of my cheeks and along my jaw line.

A gentle smile curves her lips and she gives a small nod.

"Yes," she says.

* * *

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	23. Believe In You

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS**

* * *

**Believe In You**

"Somewhere someone's reachin'  
Trying to grab that ring  
Somewhere there's a silent voice  
Learning how to sing  
Some of us can't move ahead  
We're paralyzed with fear  
Everybody's listening  
'Cause we all need to hear

I believe in you  
I can't even count the ways  
That I believe in you  
And all I want to do  
ls help you to believe in you

I will hold you up  
I will help you stand  
I will comfort you  
When you need a friend  
I will be the voice that's calling

I believe in you  
I can't even count the ways  
That I believe in you."  
-Believe in You, Amanda Marshall

* * *

_**Bree-Anne's POV**_

We all deserve these perfect moments. Where no matter how simple or seemingly boring whatever you are doing seems to outside eyes, things couldn't possibly get any better and you worry it's all just a dream. Where you feel so complete, so physically and mentally whole, that you wonder how you ever functioned before those feelings existed. Where you can't stop smiling, laughing, and your heart feels as if it could burst from the overwhelming, staggering amount of emotions surging through you. As if you're walking ten feet off the ground and you're scared that someone will come along and burst that wonderful bubble that's keeping you safely suspended above the earth.

That is how I've been feeling since the three of us stepped onto the elevator at the crime lab after Donnie's impromptu proposal. My brain can't seem to wrap itself around the fact that this is it for us; all of our dreams and all of the promises of forever are going to finally come true. We're engaged; starting a new life together and not only rediscovering all of the wonderful things that had made us so amazing the first two times around, but learning everything that has changed in the years that we've let slip by. We're both completely different people now; personal struggles and sacrifices have aged and matured us. We no longer just have ourselves to worry about, but a little boy that is now relying on both of us to take care of him, to hold it together now matter how rough and rocky the road might get.

I know for a fact that I'm not the same person anymore. The past three and a half a years have done a number one me; I'm more guarded with my heart, leery to trust anyone no matter how believable the promises sound. And I know that Donnie's not the same man he used to be either. He's not as laid back and affable as he used to be during our private moments together. It seems to take more of an effort to get one of those patented sarcastic quips out of him, and I notice that while he smiles with ease and laughs at Collin's antics or at my light hearted teasing, something has changed inside of him. There's a wounded, vulnerable quality that I've never seen before. A haunted, dark side of him that he's trying so hard to hide from me. Jess' death and his shooting of Simon Cade have done some serious damage. And no matter how many times he says he's fine and that he's coping, I have to bite my tongue in order not to tell him that everything coming out of his mouth is complete bullshit. I want to tell him that it's okay not to be the tough one for once; that if there's anyone he can show that softer, sensitive side to, it's me. I'm not going to judge him or tell him that he's not allowed to feel the way he is. I love him beyond all comprehension; I'll happily take the good with the bad. But I can't help but want to do whatever it takes to make sure that he's okay. Maybe it's the mother hen quality I've always possessed, but I have an overwhelming desire to take care of him. To make all the pain and the hurt go away.

I know that he'll open up with time. Donnie's always been a hell of a challenge when it comes to getting him to talk about how he's feeling. It's been that way since we were teenagers; he's so busy worrying about everyone else and wanting to make sure that you're okay that he doesn't take the time to think about himself. He's so hell bent on playing the knight in shining armour and being everyone's rock, that he doesn't allow himself to be human, to be anything less than the stable, tough one. Donnie doesn't do weak, as he's always been fond of saying. To him, any sign of weakness makes someone less of a man.

And only his father can be thanked for instilling that ridiculous notion in him.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about the proposal in the crime lab lunchroom. It hadn't been the most romantic of moments, but strange and obscure have always seemed to work exceptionally well for us. While part of me is a little disappointed -what girl doesn't want t be wined and dined, to have flower given to her and the most important question of her life popped with at least a little bit of romance?- another part of me is immensely relieved that he'd even asked me in the first place. It's simply hard to grasp; the fact that we've even managed to find our way back to each other. That we even have a future to plan when I'd all but given up all hope of ever having him in my life again.

Your entire existence can change in the blink of an eye. Donnie and I are certainly proof of that. Despite there being a small amount of lingering worry in my mind that maybe he's rushing into things as a way of combating his loneliness and filling that hole in his heart that Jess' death had left him with -I can't help but wonder if I'm just a replacement, the girl that just happens to be in the right place at the right time- I've so far managed to convince myself that this is the real deal. That this truly what he wants.

That I'm what he wants.

* * *

Collin's hysterical giggling shatters my reverie and I glance down at him; his hands securely grasping ours as he picks his feet up off of the ground and forces us to swing him back and forth. I'm sure we look like a living, breathing version of a Norman Rockwell painting or one of those public service announcements the Church of Jesus Christ and the Latter Day Saints put out about making space in your busy schedule for family time. Maybe it's even a little too 'picture perfect, movie-esque' for people to handle; a young, attractive couple so clearly in love as they stroll through Central Park, unable to keep their eyes of each other or the proud grins off of their faces each time they look adoringly upon their precious baby boy. The toddler's giggles floating on the breeze as he demands to be swung higher and faster so that he can 'kiss the clouds'.

If people only knew how far from perfect we actually are. And how much we've had to conquer just to get to this moment.

"It was nice of your boss to give you the rest of the day off," I comment, as Donnie lets go of Collin's hand, grabs a hold of him under his arms and lifts that tiny body effortlessly over his head and onto his broad shoulders.

"I've been logging way too much overtime for the department's liking," Donnie says, although I don't need to be a rocket scientist to realize that there's more to his early dismissal than that. "Hang on tight there, buddy," he instructs our son, as he rests his large hands on Collin's thighs in order to keep him firmly in place. "I do have to see though," he chuckles, as two tiny hands completely cover his eyes.

"Well whatever the reason is," I wrap my arm around his waist and settle my hand on his side, then take a sip at the chocolate milkshake I've been carrying with me since we left the McDonald's across the street from the northeast entrance of the park. "I'm just glad that you're here with us."

A broad smile curves his lips and he looks down at me through his sunglasses. "I've got a lot of time to make up for," he reminds me.

"We both do," I say, and tuck myself into his side.

Our lunch together had been a start. Although simple and cheap, the little trip to McDonald's had been our first foray into doing something as a family. And had given Donnie the chance to realize that underneath that cherubic face and those brilliant blue eyes and that adorable smile, our son was a rather complex individual. That there was a mischievous side to Collin that often went ignored; people heard his giggle and his slightly awkward speech and immediately melted. And were shocked when he did eventually throw a temper tantrum or let out an ear-splitting wail in protest when he didn't get something he wanted. He was a typical toddler; with a healthy attitude problem to go along with the usual woes that came with his age. He was tiny, but he knew exactly what he wanted and was determined to get it. If he wanted a cheeseburger with nothing but ketchup on it and he got something completely different, his temper would hit the roof. If he wasn't allowed to get a toy while we were out shopping, he'd kick and scream and draw attention to himself and completely embarrass me.

Unfortunately, it was hard to scold him because of how adorable he was when he knew he was in the wrong and was trying to repent for his behaviour. Nothing upsets Collin more than being scolded; and the second that lower lip starts to wobble and those blue eyes filled with tears, I'm a goner.

While it was amazing to watch father and son in action together -I'd gotten a kick out of listening to Collin's hysterical giggling as his dad chased him around the indoor play area and watching them, identical blue eyes never leaving each other's face, when they'd shared a strawberry sundae- it's also a relief to know that I'm no longer in this alone. Sure, my parents help me out the best they can, but with ten other grandchildren and the fact they're getting up there in their ages, they can't be at my beck and call just because we live under the same roof. My parents have been great since the day Collin was born; picking up the slack with middle of the night feedings and diaper changes. But nothing can compare to having Collin's daddy in his life. To have a partner that is so willing and eager to share in every aspect of our son's life and upbringing.

To know that I'm not alone anymore. That there's someone that will share in the joy at Collin's achievements and be shoulder the burden through the childhood illnesses and all the rough patches.

"I's got a new friend, daddy!" Collin chirps from his perch on Donnie's shoulder. "I's met him on the subway. I gives him some of my crackers."

"Our son talks to everyone," I inform my fiancé -God, it feels so strange yet so perfect to call him that- "And I mean _everyone_. And before you go paranoid policeman, yes I've given him the talk about not talking to strangers."

"It's not going paranoid policeman," Donnie says. "It's going paranoid daddy. Wanting to keep my boy safe."

"I think that this guy was pretty harmless," I assure him. "Even if he was a little…_different_."

"Different? In what way?"

"He was so cool!" Collin exclaims. "He had things on his head!"

"What kind of things?" Donnie asks, and then has to tighten his hold on our son's legs as Collin releases his arms from around his dad's head.

"Dis!" Collin cries, and putting his hands flat on the top of his head, sticks up three fingers. "Like dis, daddy!"

"He had horns," I explain. "Now I'm not sure if they were implanted into his head or of they were screwed in somehow…"

"Let me guess," Donnie smirks. "Guy's name was Quentin Oswego."

"Wow…" I laugh. "You really _do_ know everyone."

"Horn boy and I are on a first name basis. Had a case about a year and a half ago and some evidence led us back to him. He wasn't the perp we were after for the killing, but I did end up hauling him in for a couple of charges."

"What were they?" I ask curiously.

"One count of fraud and one for public ugly."

"That's so mean!" I scold, and pinch his hip.

"Come on…you gotta agree that our boy Quentin is one ugly a…"

I raise my eyebrows and glance up at Collin, who's listening intently to the conversation.

"..butt SOB," Donnie finishes. "There can't be one thing you honestly find attractive about that guy."

"I don't know…" I shrug. "I've seemed to have developed this weakness for guys with ink in my old age."

Donnie frowns and shakes his head. "I remember when you were this innocent little high school girl that almost fainted when she got a second hole put in her ears at that hairdressing place in the New Rochelle Mall. Now I find out that you've actually got a tattoo?"

"Two actually," I inform him. "And a belly button ring."

His eyes widen. "You serious?" he asks.

"Deadly serious," I reply. "Isn't it illegal to lie to the police?" I tease.

"Two tats and a piercing?"

I nod and take another sip of my milkshake.

"Jesus…" Donnie gives a shudder. "You are so going to have to show all that off to me when we're alone later. 'Cause if it makes me go a little crazy just hearing about it…"

"Well you always have been very easy to please," I chide. "I doubt that that's changed about you."

"It's not that I'm easy to please," he corrects. "It's just that you've always had a way of getting to me. No one else has ever been able to get to me like you do, babe. No one's ever been able to drive me so crazy by doing so little."

"Not even J…?"

"Not even her," he answers before the name escapes my lips. I've noticed several times now how agitated Donnie seems to get if I even attempt to bring up Jess' name. Which only adds to my paranoia that maybe what he felt for her goes deeper than he's willing to admit. And that I am nothing more than a replacement. A stand in.

We stop in front of an empty bench several yards away from the busy Sheep's Meadow playground, and Donnie crouches down, then leans forward and with a firm hold on Collin's arms, allows our son to do a front flip over top of his head. The toddler gives a shriek of both surprise and delight, and then giggles as he lands perfectly on his feet.

"How comes you never do that mum-mum?" he asks.

"'Cause that's a daddy thing to do," Donnie replies for me. "Just daddies do crazy and wild things like that. Mommies are more serious. Daddies like to goof off. It's a guy thing. You'll understand when you're a bit older."

"I'm almost tree!" Collin reminds his dad. "'member?"

"How can I forget?" Donnie reaches out and yanks the brim of the Mets cap over Collin's eyes. "You remind me every half an hour."

"You needs to know these things, daddy!" our son declares, and fixes his hat. "There's lots to know!"

"Well I've got lots of time to find all of it out," Donnie assures him. "All the time in the world."

"No more vatation?" Collin asks; slight fear and trepidation in his eyes.

"Daddy's tired of going on vacation," he replies. "He's tired of running away from things. He's not going away again, okay?"

"What if I'm bad?" Collin inquires. "You go on vatation again?"

"I'm not going anywhere ever again," his dad vows. "I'm here now. With you and mommy. And I'm here for the long haul."

"For forever?" the toddler asks hopefully.

"Forever and ever," Donnie promises. "If you and your mom want me to stick around, that is."

"I want you to stick around," I say, as I sit down on the bench and press a kiss to his cheek.

"Me too!" Collin cries. "With me and mommy! Forever! And Luna! And a puppy named Sprinkles! And lotsa bruddas and sistahs."

"Don't get that far ahead of yourself," Donnie chuckles. "That's something me and your mom are going to have to talk about one of these days."

"Birth control," I say and cough noisily. "Lots of it."

"We'll talk about it," Donnie gives me a grin and wraps an arm around my shoulders. "You gonna go play, little man? So I can talk to your mommy for a bit?"

"Not about brothers and sisters I hope," I mutter.

"I goes play in da sandbox!" Collin announces, then scurries off towards the playground.

* * *

"Remember, he's your son too," I say, as I suck noisily on my drink. "Means you have to keep an eye on him constantly. He may be all cute and tiny, but he's a daredevil. He has no fear. So unless you want him finding his way up to the top of those monkey bars and falling off and breaking his arm…"

"I'll watch him like a hawk. I'm a detective, remember? Means I have amazing observation skills. And you know what I'm observing right now?"

"Your son flirting with that cute little blond on the see-saw?" I ask. "Look at him giving her that grin, batting those long eyelashes at her."

"Chicks can't resist the blue eyes," Donnie says.

"An older woman too," I add. "She's at least five."

"Kid's a stud like his old man," my fiancé declares.

I frown, then pull my straw out of my cup and flick the remnants of chocolate shake at him.

"What?" Donnie laughs and wipes brown liquid off of his cheek with the back of his hand. "It's an honest assessment."

"You've always been a conceited bastard," I grumble.

"Confident," he corrects. "There's a huge difference."

I roll my eyes.

"And actually, that wasn't what I was talking about. My phenomenal observation skills were not riveted on our son busting out his game on some pre-school hottie. I was actually noticing that there's a tiny pink Hello Kitty on the top of the left cup of your bra."

"Perv!" I cry, and playfully shove him away. "Looking down my top while our son is ten feet away!"

"How can I not look when you're given me a little sneaky-peek," Donnie laughs, then reaches out to straighten the neckline of my top. "Quit giving all the old men around here a free show," he teases, then gives a pleased - and almost proud- grin when the light graze of his fingertips against my bare skin causes me to shiver. "Looks like I'm not the only one that's still easy to please," he comments, then pressing a kiss to my temple, pulls me tight into his side once again.

"I'm on a bit of a hair trigger here," I admit.

"A bit?"

"A huge one," I sigh, and he gives a nod in agreement. "You never told me what happened in the meeting today," I say, as I rest my head on his shoulder.

"There's nothing to tell you," Donnie responds. "Just that everything is status quo. The charges are sticking and the restraining order stays in place."

"I bet Robert Dunbrook wasn't happy," I remark.

"Doesn't matter. All that matters is that he bit off more than he could chew and he choked on it. Huge."

"Oh how the mighty have fallen," I say. "Did he try to bring up your little secret? Did he…?"

"He tried," Donnie confirms, his thumb stroking my shoulder. "And I beat him to it. I told Mac and Sinclair exactly what happened that day before Bobby got a chance to. I told them that I killed Simon Cade."

"And is that why you got to leave early today?" I ask. "Are you in kind of trouble because of it or…"

"Sinclair had my back all the way. They knew all along that I'd been the one that had shot him. Bullet they pulled out of his mangled brains matched my service weapon. I should have realized that a year ago. How long have I been doing this job for? And I couldn't remember that they'd be able to match the bullet to me?"

"You weren't exactly thinking properly, Donnie," I gently remind him. "You were under a lot of stress and you wanted justice for Jess. And it's been a long, tough year for you. No one is going to fault you for being a little…_out of it_."

He nods in agreement, and I can feel the tension that overtakes his body.

"Don…" I pull away from him, and sitting up, place my cup on the ground. "I know that it's hard for you and I know that you think that no one cares about you or wants to hear about how you're feeling…" I continue, having to use my hand to shield my eyes from the sun.

He sighs heavily and stares at the playground, keeping an eye on our son.

"But I care about you," I inform him. "I love you. You're the father of my child. You're going to be my husband…"

He smiles at that.

"…and I'm going to be your wife," I continue. "And whatever bothers you and hurts you, bothers and hurts me, too. You've always told me everything. You've always been able to talk to me about anything. So please…please don't close yourself off like this. We want to start off on the right foot; no secrets. Right?"

He nods.

"Why don't you let someone else be there for you for a change," I suggest. "You've always been the one people go to when they need something. Even when we were fourteen I knew I could go to you when something was bothering me. You've always been able to make things better for me. Why won't you let me do that for you?"

"Because that's not me," he says. "That's not who I am. I don't…I don't ask for help."

"So then don't ask for it," I tell him. "Let me offer it to you. If we're going to spend the rest of our lives together…"

"Don't play that card, Breezy. Don't use that against me."

"I'm not using it against you. I just want you to realize that this is a give and take relationship, Donnie. You can't be doing all the giving and I can't be doing all the taking. I worry about you, you know that."

He nods.

"And I know that you're a ferociously stubborn bastard," I give a smile and lay my hand on his stomach. "But you're my ferociously stubborn bastard."

He smirks and finally looks at me. "You can be a real pushy, insufferable little b…"

I lean forward and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "But I'm _your_ pushy, insufferable little bitch," I say.

"You are," he agrees, and pecks my lips softly. He sighs heavily and turns his attention back to the playground, where Collin and the same little girl from the seesaw are now side-by-side in the sandbox, practically glued together as they use plastic shovels to dig for buried treasure.

"That kid is a God," he declares.

Reaching out, I take my fiancé's chin between my thumb and forefinger and turning his face towards me, arch my eyebrows and stare at him expectantly.

"What do you want me to say, babe?" Donnie asks. "What is it you're waiting for me to say?"

"Something," I reply. "Anything. How about that phone call that you took while we were in McDonalds? I know there's more to it than you're letting on. You told me that it wasn't anyone from work but you still acted like it was top secret. Is there someone else? Are you seeing someone? Do you need to break something off with another woman before we can…"

"There is no one else," he assures me. "There's only you. I wouldn't do that to you. I wouldn't be marrying you if there was someone else. And it wasn't anyone from work. It wasn't one of my guys, it didn't have anything to do with a case…it was…" he takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. "It was a department shrink," he finally admits.

"And you didn't think you could tell me that?" I ask, as he removes my hand from over my eyes, then pulls off his sunglasses and gently slips them onto my face. "You didn't think I'd understand?"

"I just didn't want you worrying about it," he replies, and once again returns his attention to the playground.

"Are you kidding me? Telling me no to worry? The biggest worrywart on the face of the earth? Waiting for me to kick that little habit is like…well…it's like leaving the porch light on for Jimmy Hoffa."

Donnie laughs at that. "Great analogy babe," he praises, and runs a hand over my hair.

"If you need to talk to someone about what happened to Jess and what you did to Simon Cade, that's okay," I tell him. "Did you think that I was going to judge you for needing to talk to someone?"

"I didn't want you to think that I was doing it 'cause I couldn't talk to you about it," he says. "I didn't want you to think that I was keeping stuff back from you 'cause I wasn't telling you certain things."

"Sometimes we need outside ears," I reason. "Sometimes it's better to talk to someone else. Someone that's impartial."

He nods in agreement. "I've got problems, Breezy," his voice is quiet, his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. "I've got serious problems. I managed to stop the drinking and the sleeping around, but I've still got issues. And I need to…I need to deal with it. With what happened to Jess. If I don't, how the hell are we ever going to know if this…" he gestures to the two of us. "…is actually about us or if it's a rebound thing? I need to get my shit together and get some answers before…"

"Before we end up getting divorced because you realize years down the road that it's really a dead woman you want, not me," I finish for him. And struggle to hold the tears in as my heart threatens to shatter. "You don't need to say anything else," I say, and quickly scamper to my feet. "I knew that this was all too good to be true. I knew that this would happen again. That you'd turn around and do this to me. You suck me in every time, Donnie. I don't know how you do it. But you suck me in and I always tell myself 'not this time, I won't trust him this time'. But I do. I always trust you again and this is what happens."

"Sit down," he captures both of my hands in his. "Sit down, Breezy."

"I get it, okay? I get that you're lonely and you're convincing yourself that you want to be with me because you're hurting. I won't fault you for that, okay? I won't…"

"Sit down," he orders, and yanks me towards him before adding in a softer voice, "Please."

Sighing heavily, a rake a hand through my hair and reluctantly return to my seat.

"I want you," Donnie says, taking my face in his hands. "Only you. I love you. I've always loved you. But I need to deal with the way I'm feeling about Jess' death. Because you know what? She did mean something to me. A lot to me. And I don't want my always and forever having to deal with all of this shit I've got going on inside. With all the anger and frustration and the guilt from her death. And from the case that landed my best friend in wheel chair. That isn't fair to you, Breezy. You deserve better than that. So much better."

I lay my hands over his and lean forward to press my lips against his forehead.

"Don't ever doubt that I love you," he whispers. "Don't ever doubt how I feel about you. Or that I want to marry you and raise our son together. That I want to have even more babies with you. This isn't about not loving you, babe. This is about me not loving myself."

"But I love you," I say. "I love you and that should be enough."

"It should be," he agrees. "But I need to be able to stand myself. To be able to look in the mirror and not feel disgusted with how I've turned out. I need to get a grip on all of that before we get married. So that I can be a proper husband to you. And a proper father to Collin. I have to do it for all three of us."

"And you'll let me help you?" I ask. "You won't keep anything back from me? You'll let me help?"

"I won't shut you out," he promises. "We're in this together, okay?"

I nod.

"By the time Christmas gets here, three things are going to happen. I'm going to get my shit together, I'm going to prove to you and to everyone around me that I'm a good person, and we're going to be husband and wife. You can write that down if you want. Hold me to it."

"I've got a good memory," I say, and then sigh against his lips when he covers my mouth with his in a long, languid kiss.

* * *

"But just so you know…" I begin, as he once more wraps his arm around my shoulders and draws me into him. "I was kind of hoping that one of those three things would happen way before Christmas."

"Which of the three?" he asks.

"The whole husband and wife thing," I reply nonchalantly. "I guess I was kind of hoping that maybe it can happen before Thanksgiving."

"Late November-ish?" he nods as he considers it. "We can make that happen."

"Canadian Thanksgiving," I say, and I feel his body shake against mine as he chuckles.

"Someone's eager," he teases. "Two hours ago you were having a freak out over it being too soon and now you're hoping it happens in less than three months?"

"Might as well jump right into the deep end, right?" I give a shrug. "If we're going to do it, we might as well just shit or get off the pot sooner than later."

Donnie nods. Then falls silent as he thinks about my mid October deadline. "Canadian Thanksgiving, huh?" he asks.

I nod in confirmation.

"Gives us what? A little over two and a half months? About ten weeks?"

"About that…"

"Don't think we could pull off a church thing in that short of time," he says.

"I just want to marry you, Donnie. I don't care where we do it. Or how many people are there. Just as long as we do it. Remember when my cousin Vickie got married when we were in high school? It was end of October then and we both know how beautiful the botanical gardens in Queens are at any time of the year…"

"You seriously think we can pull it off?" he inquires. "You think we can organize a wedding in that little amount of time?"

"Our families and our closest friends," I reason. "Those are the only guests we really need. And I can get a dress off the rack and you can wear that tux you say you've got stashed in the back of the closet."

"That tux is a one time only thing for you. Tomorrow night. That's it. If we're getting married, I'm wearing my dress blues. Big wedding or not. I promised my mom that when I finally got hitched, I'd wear them. And trust me, that's one promise she'll hold me to."

"So we've got wardrobe pretty much decided," I say. "We just need to call to make plans for the ceremony, find some place to have a small reception…"

"Find somewhere to go for a honeymoon," he grins and drops a kiss on the top of my head. "Can't forget the honeymoon. We deserve a honeymoon."

"You just want the crazy hot sex you know will come on the honeymoon," I laugh.

"Guilty as charged. But you're forgetting our history, babe. You're forgetting how I know we have crazy hot sex whether or not we're on a honeymoon or not."

My cheeks flush at that.

"So ten weeks…" Donnie nods slowly. "Two months and a bit and we'll be husband and wife."

"Scary thought," I giggle. "Me and you vowing to spend forever and ever together."

"Only thing scary is if we didn't get to spend forever and ever together," he says.

"Sappy bastard," I tease, and smile up at him.

"You're not going to go all feminist on me and keep your last name on you?" Donnie asks, his eyes sparkling playfully. And happily.

"I'm going old school," I vow. "Bree-Anne Flack. All the way."

He nods his approval, then kisses me softly. "I love the sound of that," he declares.

"Me too," I smile, and turn my face up into another kiss.

"DADDEEEE!" Collin bellows from the playground. "DADDEEE! WATCH ME!"

"But I love the sound of that even more," Donnie says, and turns his attention back to our son. Who's attempting to climb the monkey bars. "Something tells me I should get over there."

"Traitor," I jokingly grumble, then smile against his lips when he kisses me a final time before standing up.

"Not just us anymore," Donnie reminds me, walking backwards. "You have to share me."

"I'll think about that," I laugh.

He gives me a wink, then turns his back towards me and jogs in the direction of the monkey bars.

I smile as I watch him and Collin together. The surprisingly tender and patient way in which Donnie instructs Collin on how to climb the metal playground equipment, the way those strong hands settle on our son's sides and gently and confidently guide him every step of the way. And the trust, love and adoration that is written all over our little boy's face every time he looks at his dad. The man who'd helped give him life.

He knows daddy isn't going anywhere.

And so do I.

* * *

**Massive thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and even just lurking! I appreciate all of the support!**

**Special thanks to:**

**CSINYMinute**

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**Soleil Mar**

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**BlueEyedAuthor**

**New-york-babeee**


	24. Belongs to You

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS**

**THANKS TO EVERYONE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVES! AND HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO MY FELLOW CANUCKS!**

**THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO ALL OF YOU THAT HAVE BEEN ASKING FOR MORE FLACK AS A DADDY AND 'FREEZY' FAMILY TIME!**

* * *

**Belongs to You**

"Oh the me that I remember always thought you had to keep it all inside  
Get in trouble for being tender so you never say surrender  
But it took you to finally prove me wrong

Every smile that lights my face  
Every teardrop every trace  
Every secret in place belongs to you  
Anything that's good in me, all I ever hope to be  
Every drop of every dream belongs to you

I'm letting go I'm letting go now  
Of everything I've ever held unto

Every place I've ever been  
Every chance I'll get again  
Every secret, every sin belongs to you  
Anything that's good in me, all I ever hope to be  
Every drop of every dream, belongs to you  
It all belongs to you."  
-Belongs to You, Emerson Drive

* * *

_**Flack's POV**_

"I don't know about this buddy…" I say, as I carry Collin through the crowded Wal-Mart parking lot. "Daddy's not exactly a shop 'til you drop kind of guy. This is a little too insane even for me."

It had been my idea to stop in at the big box store on the way to my parents' place for dinner, and to gather up what Breezy and Collin would need during their stay at my apartment. The plan was to buy whatever they would need to not only feel comfortable while bunking at my place, but to also turn my humble abode into their home as well. The second I'd found out Collin was mine, my brain had started working overtime on what to purchase for him when he came over for whatever visitation schedule that Breezy and I worked out. I had immediately decided that I'd empty out the spare room, paint it, re-do the flooring and turn it into a bedroom that any little boy would love. That I'd fill my place with every toy imaginable and clutter up my kitchen even more than it already is with kid friendly dishes, cups and any and all items of food that my son could possibly want.

Of course, now that Breezy and I actively engaged -while Collin and I make our way to the front entrance of the store, she's lingering back by my SUV making initial plans and reservations with the wedding office at the botanical gardens- I figure that the chances of her and Collin actually going back to her parents' place on a full time basis are slim to none. Personally, I'm ready, willing and able to help her pack all of their belongings tonight and move them into my place. It'll be crowded, but the living arrangements will hopefully be temporary and we'll qualify for a mortgage and find a nice place to call our own. I haven't mentioned that I'd like them to settle in permanently; things are happening at a warp speed and it's overwhelming at best. Her family has no clue we're even on speaking terms again, let alone planning on getting married. I know that underneath her giddiness and excitement, Breezy's worried about how her parents and brothers are going to take the news.

The Douglas' have always been an extremely tight knit family; I don't know how much, if anything has changed since Dean's trial and Breezy's pregnancy. But I'm pretty sure that I'm public enemy number one as far as they're all concerned and that news of our wedding plans are not going to go over very well. I'm already expecting mass resistance from her father; he's going to try his hardest to keep her away from me and to prevent me from being a part of Collin's life. And her mom's never been the type to cause a ripple in the husband/wife relationship by taking her daughter's side in anything. I'm actually surprised that they took her and Collin in and have been taking as good of care of them as they have. I can only imagine the uproar that our affair had caused, let alone the fact that she'd wound up pregnant by someone other than her husband. Her dad's always been the 'stay in the marriage no matter what' kind of guy and it must have rocked him to find out that his baby girl was sleeping with someone else while married to Dean. It wouldn't have mattered what a prick his son in law was; she was expected to abide by the letter of the religious law when it came to her wedding vows.

My reappearance in her life is definitely going to ruffle some feathers. My main concern is Breezy and how she'll be affected by any backlash from her family. I'm no longer that immature kid that eagerly sought out her father's approval a little over twenty years ago. Back then I'd kissed his ass to get him to accept me and bent over backwards to make a good impression. Now I'm almost thirty-five and beyond caring if I'm welcomed back into the family or not. The only thing that matters to me is taking care of my responsibilities. Of giving Breezy everything I'd ever promised her. I just want to make her and Collin happy, give them a good home. Anything else is a bonus.

Although I am unsure if I should tell her about all the times I'd called her house after our show down in the courthouse and her old man had refused to take down any of my messages, or to even let her know I was on the phone.

"I loves to shop!" Collin cries excitedly, and curls both arms around my neck.

I can't get enough of him; I can't stop hugging and kissing him and telling him that I love him. I'm relishing each second that I spend with my boy, enjoying learning about his likes and dislikes, and getting first hand experience with the tail end of the terrible twos. I'm fascinated by my son; that someone like me can make something so beautiful and perfect is one of the great mysteries of life. And I'm in awe of him and his mother, who's done such a phenomenal job raising him considering the circumstances.

"Guess it's good that you get something from your mommy," I chide.

"Mum-mum loves shoes!" Collin declares. "Mum-mum gots lots of shoes!"

"Yeah?" I ask with a grin; it's nice to know there's still some old Breezy hanging around. "How many shoes does she have?"

Collin releases his hold on my neck, spreads his arms wide, hands with their palms up and gives a shrug. "I dunno…" he replies. "But she's gots lots!"

"We're going to have to go on a secret mission," I tell him. "You wanna go on a secret mission with daddy?"

My son's eyes go wide and he nods enthusiastically.

"We're going to call it…secret mission mommy's missing shoes. We're going to make sure that all of those shoes don't tag along when you guys move in with me. We don't want to be run out of the house by all of her shoes do we? We want some space for ourselves, right?"

"Right!" Collin exclaims.

"So me and you are going to go through her closet when she's not looking and some of those shoes are going to mysteriously disappear. You're going to have to tell me which ones she doesn't wear, though. Think you can do that?"

"I can do that!" Collin answers confidently.

"We gotta keep this between us though," I say. "She can't know what we're up to it. It's got to be our little secret, okay?"

"O'tay…" he nods once more. "'Cause if mum-mum finds out she be really mad! 'Cause she loves her shoes!"

"I think she loves us more though, don't you? Don't you think she loves us more than her shoes?"

"I don't know about Collin," Breezy pipes up unexpectedly from behind me, causing me to startle slightly when she grabs a hold of my sides and pinches playfully. "But I'd trade you in for a pair of Manolo Blanik's in a heartbeat."

"I tend to think I'm a little more useful than a pair of five hundred dollar shoes," I retort, and giving her a wink as I she steps alongside of me and slips her arm around my waist.

"You silly man…" she laughs and shakes her head. "You couldn't find a pair for five hundred even if there was a fifty percent off sale."

"Nice to know a pair of shoes have more value than I do," I tease.

"Nothing could ever replace you," she assures me. "I mean, I think you can do a little more for me than the shoes can. Case in point.." she nods at Collin. "And besides, even if I owned a pair of five inch heels I still wouldn't be able to compete with your height and I _do_ need someone to get stuff off the top shelves."

"You're a real comedienne, you know that?" I grumble.

"You know I love you," she chirps, tucks herself into my side as I lift my arm and settle it across her shoulders, then giggles when she pinches my side once more. "You've got yourself quite the set of love handles going on there, detective," she teases. "Those weren't there four years ago."

"Maybe not…but half of that…" I cast a glance over my shoulder and look down at her ass. "Wasn't there four years ago either. Not that that's a complaint or anything 'cause I'm quite liking the view…"

"My butt and hips and a couple of other things…" she nods down at her chest. "..aren't what they used to be."

"No they're not," I agree, then drop a kiss on the top of her head when she frowns. "They're even better."

"Bigger," she corrects with a grimace. "I have had a baby, you know. Things haven't gone back to normal since."

"I was in mommy's tummy once!" Collin tosses his two cents in. "God put me in mommy's tummy and I had to live there until I was big enough for the doctor to get me out. She had a big belly!" he giggles at that. "And I used to kick her and stuff all da time."

"I bet you were a real handful even then," I muse.

Breezy nods in agreement. "Up all night, asleep all day. Chronic heartburn, all day sickness, two not so little feet constantly using my kidneys and bladder as trampolines…"

"You liked giving your mom a hard time, huh?" I ask Collin. "You liked making her suffer."

"Of course!" he cries. "I'm a guy!"

Breezy laughs at that.

"I wonder where he's learned _that_ from," I smirk. "Your mom's already teaching you bad things. Good thing I came along when you did so I can tell you all about the bad things that she does."

"Mommy's bad?" Collin's eyes widen in disbelief.

"The worst sometimes," I tell him. "Wait until I tell you about some of the bad girl things she used to do when she was younger."

"Two and a half is way too young to hear about how I used to humour you by wearing my kilt rolled up to my butt and no underwear when we used to…"

"Almost tree, mum-mum!" Collin cries in exasperation. "How many times I gots to say it?"

I bite my bottom lip to keep myself from laughing. "He's got your attitude problem," I say.

"Your smart mouth is more like it!" Breezy huffs, as she pulls an empty shopping cart from the corral of buggies alongside of the front entrance of the store.

"We're going to be getting a handle on all of that real soon," I declare, as I slip Collin into the seat on the front of the cart and buckle the safety belt around his waist. "You're in for a rude awakening kid," I tell him.

"So you're going to put an end to your smart mouth and attitude issues too?" Breezy asks. "Because he's only going to pick things up from you."

"I'm not a smart mouth," I correct, as I steer the buggy towards the automatic sliding doors. "I've just got a wicked sense of humour."

"Yeah…" she nods slowly. "That's exactly it. A wicked sense of humour…_sure_…"

"Just get in there," I order, and nod towards the entrance. "Don't make me force you to stay in the car 'cause you can't be good."

She gives a grin and holds her hands up in surrender before entering the store in front of the shopping cart.

"Hey!" I call to her, and she glances over her shoulder. "You wouldn't happen to still have that kilt would you?"

"Maybe…" she singsongs, then gives me a wink before snagging a flyer of the Wal-Mart greeter and practically skipping into the store.

"Guess what?" I ask Collin.

"What?" he inquires.

"Remember how you were saying you wanted lots of brothers and sisters?"

He nods enthusiastically.

"Looks like that might happen sooner than you think," I tell him, then follow dutifully behind my fiancée.

* * *

"October 23rd," Breezy announces suddenly, as she drops an eggplant purple sheet set onto the rapidly growing mountain of items in the shopping cart.

"That supposed to mean something to me?" I ask, as she picks up another package of sheets -chocolate brown this time- and turns it over in her hands as she inspects the goods. "And why are we buying so many sheets? I do own sheets you know. You're not going to be sleeping on a bare mattress."

"Let me guess…you own about six different sets and more than half are missing at least one piece…" she says, and tosses the items in her hand into the cart.

"More like eighty percent," I admit. "What's the big deal anyway? Do you really need the pillowcases to match? Or the top sheet to go with the bottom sheet? You just sleep on them anyway…well…you do a couple of other things that I can't mention in front of such sensitive ears…"

"Mommies and daddies sleep in da same bed," Collin informs us. "'Cause that's where they make babies."

Breezy's eyes widen.

"That's what Auntie Bee-Bee says," Collin quickly rats out Bianca. "She says dat mommies and daddies have da same room and that sometimes they go in there and nine months later a baby pops out."

"Something tells me there's a little more to the story than that," I grin. "But that's pretty much how the adult goes down."

"The adult?" Breezy laughs. "What's that suppose to mean? The adult?"

"The adult…you know…the nasty…the dirty…scoring some booty…tasting some putang pie."

She rolls her eyes, then moves onto the kids' bedding.

"October 23rd," I get her back on track. "What's October 23rd?"

"Oh nothing…" she gives a sigh and a shrug. "Just the day you flush your bachelorhood down the toilet."

"You couldn't have made it the weekend before? That's usually the weekend that the World Series wraps up and if the Mets keep playing the way they are now, they could be in the final. That happens and you'll be finding me down at Shea Stadium."

"October 23rd," she insists. "It was either that or wait until the spring when the gardens opened back up for weddings."

"October 23rd works," I say. "So what now? We have to put a deposit down or something?"

"I already put it on my credit card," she tells me. "We can have a total of twenty guests. Anything above that costs two dollars a chair. And the total price includes the ceremony, a half an hour to use the gardens for pictures, and three hours in a private room in their restaurant for dinner and drinks and whatever else we want to use it for."

"Does that include me getting to shove your face into an expensive wedding cake that neither of us will get to eat?" I wonder.

"Not unless you want to spend your wedding night sleeping on the couch," she replies, and gives me a sugary sweet smile. "What it doesn't include is the price of dinner. They're going to email me the full details off what the package includes and we can go and pay off the remaining balance whenever we get around to it. Be thankful you decided to become a cop after all. Apparently being a boy in blue is going to get us a fifteen percent discount."

"Totally justifies getting shot at and attacked by nut jobs," I conclude. "And what's the remaining balance?"

She just smiles and drops three sets of sheets -Go Diego Go, Sponge Bob Square Pants and Cars- into the cart with a clatter.

"You're scaring me here," I declare, as I follow her out of the bedding section.

"Well once we decide on what kind of meal plan we want to go with…"

"Just hit me with the bad news, babe. Just give me the highest number and the lowest so that I can prepare myself for something in between."

"Somewhere between twenty five hundred and six thousand," she says, then gives me a sheepish, almost apologetic look.

"To get married in a garden?" I ask incredulously. "To get married in a place we used to sneak into when we were teenagers? How many times did we desecrate that little gazebo they got there? Which will probably be the exact gazebo we're going to tie the knot in."

"We could also just go to city hall," Breezy says. "I mean, there's nothing wrong with just taking two people with us as witnesses and…"

"No," I interject and shake my head adamantly. "We did not suffer through the last four years of our lives and find our way back to one another again for us to have a five minute ceremony with a JP. If we're doing this, we're doing it right. And if this is the way that you want to do things…"

"I want you to want it too," she says.

"I do want it," I assure her. "I'm just…surprised…"

"Surprised or freaked out?" she asks, and takes a sharp left into the book and magazine section.

"What's there to be freaked out about?" I park the buggy at the end of the aisle, reach into it to grab a package of suckers out of the cart and tear the bag open. "What do you want, buddy?" I ask my son. "You want green? Orange? Red? Purple?"

"Ummm…" he cocks his head to the side and his brow furrows in concentration as he considers the option. "I wants red."

I raise both eyebrows and stare at him pointedly.

"Pease and thank you, daddy," he adds, and I press a kiss to his forehead, remove a cherry flavoured sucker from the bag and tear off the cellophane wrapping before handing it to him.

"Nice quality time with your son," Breezy says, as she scours the racks for some reading material and I unwrap an orange treat for myself and pop it into my mouth. "Teaching him how to shoplift."

"You can play mall cop on me later," I tell her, and toss a grape sucker in her direction. "I'll even let you use my cuffs."

She gives an exasperated sigh; the sucker hits her in the shoulder and tumbles to the ground, forcing her to bend down and pick it up.

"Did you honestly think I'd forget about your cop fetish?" I tease her, as she peels the plastic off the sucker and pops it into her mouth. "That it would slip my mind how much you like to be shackled to the bed post? Or that you have a little thing with being frisked and me performing a certain level of cavity searches on you?"

"Keep talking like that in front of Collin and he's going to grow up to be a sex predator," she declares, then finds what she was looking for and stands on her tip toes to grab it off the top rack.

"Naw…" I shake my head. "He's just going to talk a good game and be a hit with the ladies. Have himself lots of girlfriends."

"Uh-uh…" Collin slurps noisily on his sucker. "Just one, daddy. Just Lucy."

"He's in love with Lucy," Breezy informs me, as she drops a book entitled Wedding Planning for Dummies in the cart. "Massively and hopelessly in love with her."

"Good to know he gets his undying devotion for certain members of the opposite sex from his old man," I conclude, then reach out to rest my hand on the back of her neck. "And for the record, I'm not freaked out," I say, as I pull her into me and press a kiss to her temple. "At all. I'd marry you tomorrow if I could. It's just all a little new to me, that's all. I don't know how much all of this stuff costs. Or everything that comes with planning a wedding. How about I just leave the hard work to you, and I just show up. Sound good? As long as there's not a lot of pink, you can do whatever you want."

"Whatever?" she asks.

"Within reason," I reply. "I mean, no ice sculptures or tacky crap like that. Just something quaint and romantic. I'll come up with the handful of people I want there, you do the same, and BOOM, we're done."

"And there's flowers to think about, a cake to pick out…" she adds, as we head for our last scheduled stop: the food section.

"Okay…well then you make appointments for us to do things and I'll show up. Just tell me ahead of schedule and I'll meet you wherever we have to be. Don't make this any harder than it has to be."

"There's also rings to pick out," she reminds me for the second time that afternoon.

I know what she's hinting at; she wants something sparkly to go on that left ring finger of hers. Since I'd spontaneously popped the question on her in the lab lunchroom, I've been contemplating just exactly how to go about giving her that ring I've had stored away for nearly four years. I'd honestly never thought I'd get the chance to use it; I certainly wouldn't have proposed to anyone else using diamond intended for her. As far as I was concerned, that ring was going to sit in that lockbox for a hell of a long time until I'd decided what to do with it in the end. And now…well now it's one step closer to finding it's desired home and I have no idea how to get it there. I certainly don't want to just give it to her and say "Here…it's yours…put it on…". I want to do things properly; ask in a more romantic way than how I'd handled things earlier in the day. She deserves something memorable and I plan on giving it to her.

When and how is the dilemma I'm facing.

"They do sell jewellery here," she says, and jerks her thumb over her shoulder in the direction in question.

"I think I can do better than an engagement ring and wedding bands from Wal-Mart," I give a derisive snort. "Give me a little bit of credit. I know I work for the city…"

"I'm just saying…" she holds her hands up in mock self defence. "And you don't have to wear a wedding band if you don't want to," she tells me.

"Why wouldn't I want to?" I inquire.

"A lot of cops don't wear them." she points out.

"Yeah…the ones that like to troll the streets while they're on patrol for women they can have their secret lives with. Who know how much some ladies like the badge and don't have any respect for themselves, their wives or girlfriends, or the women they're getting mixed up with. If I'm married, I'm letting everyone know about it. I'm letting everyone know how proud I am that I have a wife waiting at home for me. It's not just a piece of jewellery, babe. Not for us. After everything we've been through? It means a hell of a lot more than that."

"H…E…double hockey sticks, daddy!" Collin cries.

I look down at him, perplexed.

"You have to say it like that or it's a bad word!" my son informs me. "You can't say naughty words, daddy! It makes you a bad boy. Mum-mum doesn't like bad boys."

"Everyone woman loves bad boys," I declare, and Breezy frowns and elbows me in the side. "Especially your mom," I add, and press a kiss to her temple and laugh as she shoves me away from her. "What?" I ask, as she takes a right and disappears down the cereal aisle. "You're going to deny that?"

I don't get a response.

"Daddy…do you gots a crush on mommy?" Collin asks curiously. "Like I gots on Lucy?"

I can't stop the grin from spreading across my face.

"I gots a big old crush on her," I reply.

* * *

I can see the rotationally volatile situation unravelling in front of me in the middle of the cookie aisle. I'd been gone for all of fifteen minutes while attending to some personal business of my own, and I've rejoined my family only to find them immersed in an intense show down. Collin's normally brilliant blue eyes are stormy and narrowed and his arms are crossed over his chest and his mouth is set in a grim line. It's meant to be his 'I don't take any shit' face; I've mastered the identical expression over the years. Breezy's no slouch in that department either; she's staring down at our son with a look that clearly means she's not messing around, a package of Oreos held high above her head.

"I wants dat kind!" Collin demands, and points at the item in his mom's hand.

"And I told you that you're not getting that kind," Breezy stresses. "They have too much sugar in them and I don't want you eating that much sugar. Plain and simple."

"But I wants it!" he huffs, and slams both heels back against the cart.

"You can have sugar free cookies or animal crackers!" she remains firm. "Not Oreos. What I say goes, young man. Understand?!"

"No!" Collin bellows. "I want those!"

"And I say no!" she tosses the Oreos back on the shelf, which just causes our son to completely explode.

"You're mean!" he shrieks. "You're mean and stupid, mum-mum!"

"Hey!" I snap, and tossing the two items in my own hands into the cart, rest my elbows on the handle bar, take my son's face in both my hands and gently turn his face towards mine. "You don't ever talk to your mommy like that. Ever. You don't call your mommy mean names, understand me? Your mommy loves you and takes good care of you and she deserves better than that. You love mommy, don't you?"

Collin nods.

"Then you don't talk to her like that, buddy. You don't say mean things like that to her. You'd be sad if you said something mean to her and something happened to her, wouldn't you? If something happened to her and you never got to see her again?"

"I don't wants mommy to go anywhere," his lower lip wobbles and he valiantly fights back tears. "I don't wants mommy to go on vatation."

"Then you be nice to her," I order. "If she says no, that means no. Say sorry to mommy for calling her mean names."

Collin turns his teary eyes towards Breezy when I release my light hold on his face. "I'm sorry, mum-mum," his voice is barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry I calls you stupid and mean. I loves you. Don't go on vatation, o'tay? I be a good boy."

She manages a small smile and leans over the buggy to press a kiss to his cheek.

"You listen to your mommy from now on," I tell him. "I catch wind of you being a bad boy again and I'm going to toss you in lock up. Make you spend a couple nights there. No hugs or kisses or bedtime stories from mommy for a while."

Collin's eyes widen in sheer terror, then he promptly bursts into tears.

"Don!" Breezy scolds me. "You can't say things like that!"

"Okay…so maybe I went a little overboard on that threat…" I say, then give a shrug and a sheepish, apologetic smile before unbuckling Collin from the buggy and scooping him up into my arms. 'I'm sorry, buddy…" I place my lips against his temple as he curls his arms around my neck. "I shouldn't have said that. No one's going to put you in lock up."

"That was mean," Breezy informs me.

"I didn't mean to scare the crap out of him," I defend myself.

"He's just a baby," she says. "You can't threaten him like it."

"Okay…okay…I said I was sorry…I wouldn't intentionally do something like that…and he's probably tired, right? Probably needs a nap? That's what's making him this grumpy?"

"He's grumpy because he's two and a half and doesn't know any better," she sighs. "But yeah…he does need a nap."

"What are you doing?" I ask, as she reaches for the Oreos. "Don't do that, babe. Don't give in like that. You said no and that's it. Don't turn around and give him exactly what you told me he couldn't have."

"But he…"

"But he nothing," I argue. "You told him no and now you're going to give him what he wants? And then you wonder why he has temper tantrums and talks back to you? Kids don't get everything they want. That's life. And he has to learn that sooner rather than later. There's got to be rules, limits. He gets away with this crap now, imagine what he's going to be like when he's a teenager?"

She sighs and stares down at the cookies in her hand.

"But hey…if you want him to end up in juvey for boosting cars at fourteen, that's your business. But he won't be getting any get out of jail free cards 'cause I'm his old man."

"There's a big difference between giving him what he wants when he's two and a half and him stealing cars at fourteen," Breezy huffs, but puts the Oreos back anyway.

"Thank you," I say.

"What did you buy?" she asks, and peers down at the belongings I'd tossed into the cart. "Are you hopeful or something?" she smirks as she holds up a box of condoms.

"Not hopeful," I shake my head. "Dropping a hint."

She gives a snort and tosses the box back onto the mound of goods. "Are you kidding me?" she holds aloft a bottle of personal lubrication. "I've never had a problem in that department before."

"It's the warming, tingling type," I reason. "A lot could have change in three and a half years, babe. Maybe my…_technique_…won't do it for you anymore."

"Something tells me I won't have a problem with your technique," she says with a laugh, and drops the bottle back into the buggy.

"Guess there's only one way to find that out," I tease, then chuckle when her cheeks flush bright red. "Do I have the Midas touch or what?" I nod at Collin. "Out like a light."

"You probably scared him unconscious," she says, then steps behind the cart and pushes it out of the aisle.

"Okay…so my daddy skills need some working on," I sigh.

"You're actually doing surprisingly well," Breezy smiles up at me. "I'm pleasantly surprised, to be honest."

"Why? You thought I'd be a crappy father? That the apple doesn't fall far from the tree and I'd be just like my old man?"

"No…what I thought was that you'd be totally spooked when you found out that Collin was yours and that you'd go running for the hills," she admits. "I didn't expect you to be so…I don't know…_accepting_ about things."

"We used to talk about getting married and having kids all the time," I remind her. "Both times we were together. You knew how much I wanted to have kids with you. To be a daddy. And you know that I would stuck around back then whether he was mine or not."

She nods.

"He's everything I've ever wanted," I tell her. "And now that I've found him…well now that I've found him I'm not letting him go. Same with you. No way are you two ever getting away."

She smiles at that.

"You ever call your parents?" I ask. "You said you were going to find time to call them and…"

"I left a message with them after I called the gardens," Breezy says. "They weren't in their room so I left them a message that I needed to talk to them. About you."

"Okay…and what did you exactly say about me?"

"I told them that you and I are back together and that we're getting married. And that I'd explain everything when they called me back."

"Hell of a message to leave someone," I muse. "Your dad's liable to have himself a stroke when he hears that."

"I'm beyond caring what my family thinks or does," she says. "I love my parents, I do. And they've been relatively good about Collin..."

"Relatively good? Your folks took you in, babe. And knowing your dad…well knowing what he's like that must have been hard for him. Especially when he heard about…us…at the trial."

"My father went off his rocker," she tells me. "Things haven't really been the same since with us. I know that deep down he loves me, but that he's way too disappointed to ever really forgive me for what I did. I broke every rule that he holds sacred. I had an affair, got pregnant by a man that wasn't my husband, got a divorce…"

"People make mistakes," I reason. "He needs to take off those rose coloured glasses and…"

"He actually made me get re-baptized," she continues. "Can you believe that? He said that I needed to be cleansed. That I needed to be stripped off everything that was evil inside and out."

I give a derisive snort and shake my head.

"And my brothers?" she sighs heavily. "They're another story all in themselves. I'm the embarrassment of the family, Donnie. I humiliated all of them and they're making me pay for it even now. They're disgusted with me and they can't forgive me or accept what I did. And worse, they can't accept Collin because of it. They tolerate us, that's it."

"Fuck 'em," I snarl. "You don't need that shit. And neither does our son. Do you really care what they think, Breezy? Do you really believe all the crap they're spewing? So maybe we shouldn't have had an affair; we should have been upfront and honest about it with Dean and you should have walked out before things got as serious as they did between us. And maybe we had a little accident and…"

"Collin was not an accident," she retorts. "He's not an accident and he's not a mistake. He's my baby. Our baby. And he was given to us for a reason. Maybe so when we did find each other again, we'd realize how much we'd actually lost because we were too stupid to go after what we wanted. But he's a part of you and he was all I had left of you. He was unplanned but he was never unwanted."

"You're right…" I keep one arm wrapped securely around Collin and reach out to run a hand over her hair. "I'm sorry…bad choice of words. Look, we both know that we made some mistakes and that we should have handled things differently. But that doesn't mean you need to be punished for the rest of your life 'cause of it. You don't deserve that. And neither does Collin."

She nods in agreement. "They're not going to be happy, Donnie…" there's a hint of tears in her eyes and fear in her voice as she looks up at me. "They're not going to be happy about us and I'm afraid that…I'm afraid that this will be it for them…that this will be the last straw."

"And if it is?" I ask with a shrug. "So what? Do you really need people like that in your life? If they can't accept me, that's fine. But if they can't accept my son? Collin's the only innocent one in all of this. He never asked to be brought into our mess. He's a baby and he's innocent and if they can't see that…well if they can't see that then they don't deserve having him in their lives."

"Just tell me that you'll be there," her tone has a pleading quality to it. "Just please tell me that when it all falls apart you'll…"

"I'll be right there to put all the pieces back together," I promise, and cover her mouth with mine in a tender kiss. "I've already said this a few times already and I'll say it a million more if I have to: I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me. Plain and simple."

She gives a smile and lays a hand on the side of my face as I place my lips against her forehead.

"Hell of a predicament to be stuck in," she teases.

"You and me, babe," I vow. "I never made good on it back then, but I'm damn sure going to make good on it now."

"I'll hold you to that detective," she says, and stands on her tip toes to kiss me chastely. "Along with your whole promises of handcuffs, cavity searches and tingling lube," she giggles at that, then backs away from me and heads for the nearest check out

I grin and watch her as she continues walking. Admiring the way that her fuller and more womanly hips and ass sway from side to side.

"Are you coming or not?" she calls over her shoulder.

"Ask me that later when we're alone," I reply, chuckling as she shoots me a dirty look and rolls her eyes. "I've missed you," I tell her, as we fall in step alongside of each other once again. "You have no idea how much. And I'm sorry that…I'm just sorry that it took me this long to get here."

"Well you _are_ here," she says. "And that's all that matters now."

I nod in agreement and drop a kiss on the top of her head.

I've got a lot of years to make up for.

And an entire lifetime to do it in.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and even just lurking! I appreciate all of the support!**

**Special thanks to:**

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	25. The Man Who Can't Be Moved

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN…BLAH…BLAH…BLAH…**

**A/N: USE OF ITALICS DENOTES A FLASHBACK**

* * *

**The Man Who Can't Be Moved**

"Going Back to the corner where I first saw you  
Gonna camp in my sleeping bag I'm not gonna move  
Got some words on cardboard, got your picture in my hand  
saying, "if you see this girl can you tell her where I am"

Some try to hand me money, they don't understand  
I'm not broke I'm just a broken hearted man  
I know it makes no sense but what else can I do  
How can I move on when I'm still in love with you

Cause If one day you wake up and find your missing me  
and your heart starts to wonder where on this earth I could be  
Thinking maybe you'll come back here to the place that we'd meet  
And you'll see me waiting for you on our corner of the street  
So I'm not moving, I'm not moving

Policeman says, "son you can't stay here"  
I said, "there's someone I'm waiting for If it's a day, a month, a year"  
Gotta stand my ground even if it rains or snows  
If she changes her mind this is the first place she will go."  
-The Man Who Can't Be Moved, The Script

* * *

_I wasn't as ready to return to work as I thought I was._

_Physically, I'm functioning at roughly ninety percent. The re-hab has been intense and brutal; exercises to improve the strength in not only my nearly decimated abdominal muscles, but in my weakened cardiac wall. Despite my doctors insistences that take things slow, that Rome 'wasn't built in a day' and I need to give my body time to heal properly and rejuvenate itself, I've pushed myself several times to the point of severe vomiting and all out exhaustion. There's no way that I'm giving that bastard Dean Lessing the satisfaction of keeping me on the bench longer than needs be, and I'm determined that I'm going to be back in the game, all engines firing as soon as humanly possible. And if that means causing myself more agony, well then that's a small price to pay for getting back on my feet. All the professionals can really do is hold their hands up in surrender and shake their heads; baffled by my apparent incredibly fast, miraculous healing powers and the fact that I'm probably the most stubborn, pain in the ass they've ever encountered._

_I've got a few more hours of re-hab to get under my belt but the docs have given me a clean bill of health. I've been told to take it easy; a bitter, difficult pill to swallow for a guy that gets his kicks, his adrenaline rush from throwing himself into the deep end of all the action. Who continuously gives his all to the job and is known to provide 'the muscle' for Mac Taylor's team. And it's hard to be confident in both my skills and my strength when I can barely jog up a flight a stairs without being completely winded half way. My chest burning and my heart threatening to explode clear out of my chest as I force myself to take a few minutes at the landing, bent over at the waist and hands on my thighs as I attempt to get my suffering, rebelling body in control. I'm worried about what will happen when it comes time to chase a perp. There's no way that I can haul ass after someone for even half a city block, let alone a few._

_And there's also no way that I can admit to anyone that I've made a mistake. That coming back this soon is proving to be a total disaster. That I'm just not ready and that I'm concerned I'm going to be more a burden than a help to anyone. I admit that and my career is as good as done. The brass will get a hold of me, label me a liability and cut me loose, turfing me to a comfy, boring as all shit desk job until I'm old enough to qualify for my pension. I don't do weak. Or at least I don't let anyone see the damaged and tarnished side of me. Instead, I just smile a lot, crack a couple well-placed jokes and let fly a few of my patented wise cracks. When someone asks me how I'm holding up on my first night back, I just shrug and tell them that I'm doing just fine. And when Stella had caught me flirting with those lab techs at the Sam McFarland crime scene and had chided me about 'everyone loves a hero', I'd given a little grin, then had put up with Lindsay's smart ass remark about how many phone numbers I'd managed to score, the whole time fighting with myself not to tell either of the women about how I bad I was actually dealing with the entire thing. That there's a constant tightness in chest and a dull ache in the small of my back and lower left abdomen that never wants to go away. _

_And that there's a terrified, little boy inside of me that nearly jumps clear out of his shoes each time he hears a loud, sudden noise. That while I remember running back for that douche bag in those noise cancelling headphones, I can't remember his name nor do I really care to. That the last thing I remember from half a year ago is the world suddenly exploding around me and then blackness. And then waking up to excruciatingly bright lights and the sight and sound of my mother weeping inconsolably above me. At first, I'd honestly thought I was dead. That I was 'outside of myself' and witnessing her grief over losing her first born. It wasn't until the pain registered that I'd realized I was in some serious trouble. My throat was dry and every extremity ached and when I'd attempted to sit up in a moment of blind panic, an intense burning sensation had hit me square in the chest and had caused me to cry out in agony and threw me back into a lying position._

_I'd been stunned when I'd found out I'd been out for nearly a month. Kept in a medically induced coma out of fear that my system was in so much shock it would never recover on it's own; that the minute the tubes and all life sustaining apparatuses were removed from my body, that my lungs would forget to draw breath and my heart would cease to function. My parents, I would learn, had made the decision to keep me the machines despite the doctors suggesting that I'd never come out of coma 'normal', if I even did at all. That the trauma to the body and lack of oxygen to the brain after I'd coded twice -once on the way to the hospital, then again on the OR table- had left me with irreversible brain damage and that my heart was simply too weak to bear the burden of beating. It had been my dad who'd fought long and hard for me. Who'd insisted that all the tubes be left in and I'd be given the chance to prove them all wrong. I was a Flack goddamnit, and Flacks just didn't give up and surrender when the chips were down. We didn't just roll over and die. We fight long and hard; we're determined and tenacious and ferociously stubborn. If we're going out, we're doing it on our own terms. Not because some doctor thinks we're a burden on an already overtaxed and exhausted system._

_My dad had actually saved my life. He hadn't wanted to hear any bullshit about his boy dying or being anything but whole once again. He'd ignored all the negativity and pessimism and had vowed to never give up, and to be by my side when I finally managed make my way out of that long, dark tunnel I'd been unwillingly thrust into, and back into the world of the living. _

_Somehow, I'd managed to give him exactly what he wanted. And it was my dad that prevented me from giving up. He's the one that keeps me striving to be the best, to push my body to the brink of near collapse in order to prove that I'm going to be whole again. That the bombing and the damage it has done to me are nothing but slight bumps in the road. I know that he means well with his 'winners never quit and quitters never win' philosophy and that he really does have my best interests at heart when he makes me bust my ass in rehab. When he tells me to suck it up when I'm writhing in pain on the floor or throwing up into a bucket. It breaks his heart to see me suffering; to keep himself sane he goes into his full out drill sergeant mode and he cracks that whip. It's a coping mechanism for him. Not only had his first born son and namesake nearly died, but now he has to see me in sheer agony and witness my frustration and listening to me declare that I'd be better off I was dead. If he shows any form of emotion towards me, if he softens even the smallest amount, his own weaknesses show through that tough exterior. And he's old school. Where guys aren't weak and they sure as hell don't let their feelings known._

_Usually paperwork is the bane of my existence, but tonight I'm thankful just to be able to sit down and take a load off. The McFarland case had been a three ring circus and had included everything from bungee sex, an unrelated suicide -the dead girl's Statue of Liberty keychain had been plunged into our vic's chest- , and elaborate wedding proposal, and the girlfriend's father serving as our perp, murdering poor Sammy boy because he was doing to dump the rich broad in order to spend always and forever with the stripper he'd gotten pregnant. Way too many twists and turns and weird shit for a guy just back on the job. Especially on in a constant state of excessive pain and refusing to take either the Percs the docs had prescribed, our the anti-depressants being tossed his way by the department shrink dispatched to deal with the post traumatic stress disorder._

_Walking into the precinct two days ago at the start of my first shift back had been a culture shock. So much had changed in six months and I'd been worried that I wouldn't get back into the swing of things, that I'd flounder in the new policies and procedures and that I'd sink horrifically when it came to being in charge of a couple new faces under my command. Jessica Angell -a smoking hot brunette with the face of…well…an angel…and the body that's the worthy of a lot of guys' wet dreams- who'd been brought in to fill in for me while I recuperated from the bombing, had done well enough for the brass to create a permanent position for her. I'm usually able to keep my cool. A consummate professional. But there's something so intriguing about her, something so forbidden considering my self imposed rule to never get involved with someone I work with, that I'm barely able to keep it together when she tosses those raven locks over her shoulder or flashes that slightly flirtatious smile or flutters those long eyelashes. She's gorgeous, but deceptively deadly._

_Then there's Dean Truby. Fresh off a five year stint in vice, he's worth his weight in gold. Tall and big -a good six foot four and at least two fifteen, it's pretty damn obvious why he was an all state football star at Notre Dame and why he'd been chased by three NFL teams before a torn Achilles tendon had forced him permanently onto the sidelines- he's powerful and intimidating and definitely the kind of guy I want watching my back when I'm going through the door while serving a warrant. He's headstrong and tenacious; he doesn't take shit from anyone and his eyes hold a fire and a determination that so many of the others are lacking. When he walks into work, he consistently brings his A game and never fails to impress. _

_The kid's going to have a long and successful career. _

_I bite back a wince as a sharp, burning pain grabs a hold of my stomach, and I glance around the squad room to make sure that no one is watching before I sneak my right hand in between my body and my desk and my fingers firmly massage the affected area of my body. Truby and a few of the younger guys are the back of the bull pen. It's relatively quiet and subdued in there for once, and they have their suit jackets off, the sleeves of their dress shirts rolled up to their elbows and their ties loosened as they toss around a Nerf football. Their laughter and the occasional profanity mixed in with their slightly filthy talk about the women in their lives. Truby's a newlywed, he's barely two months into the game. I've yet to see a picture of his wife, but he constantly calls her by the pet name Sunny. He says it's due to her bubbly personality and her red hair that reminds him of the sunset. Too bad he doesn't show her more respect by keeping his mouth shut about their intimate relations._

_Giving a heavy sigh, I tap my pen against the papers in front of me and contemplate snagging the bottle of Percs out of my top drawer and popping a couple before the pain becomes too much to bear and I'm running for the washroom to throw up in the nearest available toilet._

"_Are you hoping if you stare at it long enough the paperwork will do itself, handsome?" a familiar, yet long absent voice asks from the side of my desk. _

_It's been nearly five years since I'd heard the voice; we'd run into each other at a gas station near my folks' place and had ended up going out for coffee and catching up on six years that had passed since we'd last seen each other. A voice that had been such an enormous part of my life from the time I was fourteen until I was eighteen. That I'd both committed to memory and had spent far too long missing terribly. I'm also frightened to look up; that maybe she's just a figment of my imagination. Wishful thinking brought on my pain and lack of sleep. I'm worried that if I glance up from my desk, that she'll be gone and that elation sweeping through me will replaced once again my loneliness._

_Yet there's a part of me that needs to look up. That's desperate to make sure that she's really there; that wants to prove that I'm not crazy. And a genuine smile spreads from ear to ear and I finally glance up. While the last five years have been incredibly unkind to me, they've been extremely gracious to Bree-Anne Douglas. My high school sweetheart, and undoubtedly the love of my life, appears has if she hasn't aged a day since we graduated. Her wavy auburn hair tumbles over her shoulders and down to the middle of her back and a charcoal grey poor boy cap sits slightly askew on the top of her head. There's a hobo style purse made from various coloured patches sewn together over her shoulder, and she wears a black knit sweater coat drawn tightly across her body, a pair of skinny jeans and black suede boots with kitten heels that stop at her knee. She's a tad eccentric and a whole lot of hot._

"_Actually, I'm hoping it will disappear entirely beautiful," I drawl, then pushing my chair away from my desk, stand up and draw her into a hug. _

_She stiffens slightly, then wraps an arm around my neck and gradually melts into my body. I'd be lying if I said she doesn't feel good. She feels damn good. And my eyes close and I lose myself in her; in the warmth of her body pressed against mine and the scent of lavender that clings to her hair. A thousand memories and four years of history exist between us, and it's impossible to simply turn off the feelings that still linger just under the surface. _

"_Long time no see," my voice is just above a whisper and I press a kiss to her cheek before finally releasing her. _

"_Too long," she smiles, and I fight the urge to grab her and kiss her senseless right there and then. _

"_Hope you're here under good circumstances," I say, motioning for the chair alongside of my desk. "That you're not in trouble or anything…"_

"_I was just popping in to see someone and I'd run into your mom yesterday and she'd told me that you'd gone back to work," Breezy tells me, then perches herself on the edge of my cluttered desk. "I was hoping you'd be here; kill two birds with one stone."_

"_I'm here," I give a sigh and lower myself into my chair. "Alive and kicking. Barely for the most part."_

"_These things take time," she sympathizes. "It wasn't just some small injury, Donnie. You were in the hospital for a long time. You had pieces of the bomb removed from your chest and a severed artery in your stomach repaired and you…"_

"_I see my mom's been going around Flushing entertaining everyone with all gory details," I grin. _

"_It was all over the news," Breezy says. "And your dad was down at O'Toole's a few times when a couple of my brothers were hanging out and they overheard him talking about what you were going through with some of his buddies. He was worried about you and…well we were all worried about you."_

_I nod slowly, unable to take my eyes off of her. _

"_I stopped by the hospital a couple of times," she admits. "When you were in a coma. No one saw me there and I only stayed for a little while but I'd sat on the edge of your bed and held your hand and I…"_

"_Tucked the rosary your grandmother gave you for your sixteen birthday under my pillow," I finish for her. "I found it the morning that I came to. You're the only person I knew that had a rosary with pink beads on it. I still have it; put away in safe place at home. If you want it back I can…"_

_She shakes her head. "I wanted you to have it," she says. "I knew that you were in bad shape and I was scared that you weren't going to make it so I…well I guess I figured that every little bit helps, right? That I wasn't losing anything by leaving it there for you. That maybe it might do you some good."_

"_Well here I am," I give her a broad smile. "Must have done something."_

"_I think that's more to do with the fact that you had amazing doctors," Breezy gives a laugh. "The miracles of modern medicine. And probably because you're the most stubborn bastard I've ever known. I knew that you wouldn't give up, Donnie. I knew that no matter what the doctors were saying that you were going to pull through. You're a fighter; the strongest person I know."_

"_Outside of yourself, you mean."_

_She rolls her eyes at that. "You were always the tough one. You were the one that used to shoo away the garter snakes and the mice when I'd freak out because they were in your backyard. You were the one that used to calm me down and make me feel safe during really bad thunderstorms."_

"_Someone had to stop you from diving under the bed or hiding in the closet," I tease. "You've always underestimated yourself, Breezy. You're a lot tougher than you give yourself credit for."_

"_Maybe…" she gives a shrug. "I miss that, you know," she says, and smiles down at me. "I miss hearing you call me that."_

"_I miss saying it," I boldly admit, and our eyes lock on each other. There's a smouldering intensity, an unspoken yet long standing powerful attraction that makes it impossible for us to ever be fully free from one another. _

"_You're feeling okay?" she asks, and breaking the gaze, picks up my pen and twirls it between my fingers._

"_Could be better," I reply. "Could be worse. I probably should have taken a couple more weeks to build up some more strength before I came back. And I still have a few more hours of rehab to clock. But the doctors say I'll be as good as new before long."_

"_Well don't force it," she says. "I know what you're like when it comes to being on the sidelines for too long. And it won't do you any good if you push yourself and end up making things worse. Make sure you take it easy, okay? I don't want to catch wind of anything different."_

"_Yes Miss Bee," I grin. "You still working at that Catholic school in Ridgewood? Your kids still call you that?" I ask._

"_I'm actually at St. Patrick's in Crown Heights now," Breezy replies. "I just started there a few months ago. Teaching grade ones. But yes…they still call me that."_

"_Crown Heights, huh?" I give a dry laugh and shake my head. "Told you you're tougher than you give yourself credit for. You've got some stones going into Crown Heights on your own."_

"_Well it's a job," she says. "And the way things are looking in this city for jobs right now…" her voice trails off and I nod in understanding. A companionable silence falls between us; as if five years had never gone by since the last time we'd been in each other's company. There's always been a certain level of comfort that I've felt around her; I never have to pretend I'm something or not or worry about hiding my feelings or my thoughts. She's always accepted me as is. _

"_You look good," I say after a few minutes, and our eyes meet and hold once again. "Real good."_

_She smiles, then leans forward and taps the tip of the pen against the end of my nose. "So do you, Donnie," she says. _

"_How come you never came back to see me?" I ask curiously. "At the hospital. You must have heard from my folks that I'd come too; that I was pulling through. How come you never came back to see me when I was conscious? When I would have known you were there?"_

"_Would you have agreed to see me if I had have?" she responds with a question of her own._

"_You really have to ask me that? Of course I would have seen you. Why wouldn't I?"_

_She gives a shrug. "I guess I was just worried that maybe I wouldn't be welcome there and that you'd…"_

"_I would have loved to have seen you," I tell her. _

"_I guess I just didn't want to feel like I was imposing," she says. "I figured that when you woke up that it was a time for you to be with your family. That they'd been so scared that they were going to lose you and that they'd gotten you back and they needed that time with you. I didn't want to take away from that, Donnie. I'm not family and I…"_

"_You're part of my life though," I gently interject. "You always have been. No matter how much time passes between us."_

_She nods and chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip._

"_So who are you here to see?" I ask. "You said you were popping into see someone and…"_

_Before I can get the remaining words out of my mouth, Dean Truby is suddenly at the side of my desk, and I watch in shock and extreme disappointment as he lays a hand on the small of Breezy's back and presses a kiss to her cheek. She turns her face into his and gives him a tight lipped, chaste kiss, then glances down at me with an uncomfortable, almost apologetic smile on her face._

"_Making friends already babe?" Dean asks, and tucks playfully on a strand of her hair. "This is my boss, Detective Don Flack Junior. He's the cop that was…"_

"_Caught in the explosion in Greenwich," Breezy finishes. "I know…Don and I used to…"_

"_We went to high school together," I finish for her, managing to speak around the lump of jealously that has settled in my throat. This is a damn bitter pill to swallow. Breezy…__**my Breezy**__…with another man. And for the first time in my life, I'm experiencing that heartache that so many guys say a woman is capable of unleashing on you._

"_So you two are old friends, huh?" Dean's eyes flicker between us. And I'm worried that he's going to see something in our eyes that give away exactly what we mean to each other. What we __**had **__meant to each other._

"_We go way back," I reply._

"_Small world," he says. "Freaky huh? That you and my wife would know each other?"_

"_It's pretty…" Breezy searches for the right words. "Surreal…"_

_I nod in agreement, then fight back the bile that rises in my throat when Dean presses a kiss to her temple. _

"_I'm just going to take a few, okay boss?" he asks me. "Spend some time with the wife?"_

"_Take as long as you want," I reply, and turn my attention to the paperwork in front of me. _

"_Wanna go and grab a coffee?" Dean asks Breezy. "Get some fresh air?"_

_She gives a nod as a response and jumps down off my desk. "It's nice to see you again Don," she says, and lays a hand on my shoulder._

"_You too," I tell her, resisting the urge to lay a hand over top of hers. _

_She gives my shoulder a squeeze, then steps away from my desk and heads for the bullpen exit hand in hand with her new husband._

_And just like that, as the door closes behind them, as quick as she was back in my life, she's gone again._

_

* * *

_

The sound of the glass pane shuddering in the rickety screen door as it opens shoves me face first into the present, and glancing over my shoulder, I give my dad a nod as he steps out onto the back porch, two cups of steaming coffee in his hands. After Breezy and I had told my folks that we were getting married, I'd gone outside to catch a few minutes to myself. My mom had reacted exactly like I'd thought she would: a lot of excited squealing, some tears and an abundance of kisses and hugs showered upon me and Breezy. My father on the other hand…well it had been hard to tell what had been going through his mind. He'd simply sat at the kitchen table, his eyes locked with mine, nodding slowly as near pandemonium broke out around us. My mother had my fiancée in a tight bear hug and kept repeating how 'this has been a long time coming' and that 'this was meant to be' while Collin excitedly skipped around the room, Luna scampering about his feet and barking noisily as he screeched about mommy and daddy getting married and how he'd get his own house and a new puppy named Sprinkles.

I'd gone out onto the porch for some fresh air, and a chance to clear my head and get a grip on the powerful surge of emotions threatening to explode my brain. While I'm ecstatic that Breezy and I are back together and we're going to finally get the ending that as eluded us for so long, I'm overwhelmed as well. It's only been a little over forty-eight hours since fate hurtled me back into Breezy's life and I discovered that I was a father. And as if realizing that I'd made a baby with her and that I was still madly and hopelessly in love with her wasn't enough, there's been a million and one other strange and surreal things that have gone down. The restraining order issued against me, Phil beating up on Breezy and manhandling my son, the show down with Dunbrook, the truth regarding Simon Cade serving as the perfect catalyst to purge my tortured soul. It's a lot for one person to deal with in such a short period of time, and I had felt the need to escape; to step outside of it all and give myself a chance to catch my breath.

"Dinner will be here in a few," my dad announces. "Your mother decided to go all out in honour of the good news and order in. Here," he leans down to tap one of the mugs against my shoulder. "Thought you could use one of these."

"Thanks…" I give a nod of appreciation as I accept the coffee from him.

"Your mother's already in there helping with plans," my dad says, and rolls his eyes as he lowers himself into a sitting position alongside of me, grumbling and profanities and his knees and back cracking noisily. "Christ…I'm getting old," he mutters. "She's going to call Father O'Shea and ask if he'll perform the ceremony," he tells me, then leans sideways to snag a rusted old tin can from the corner of the porch that he uses as an ashtray. "Don't see why he wouldn't. We've known him for years; baptized all you kids. Bree-Anne and some of her brothers too as far as I know."

"A couple of them I think," I take a sip of my coffee, then grimace. "Jesus Dad…I don't think it's supposed to be three quarters bourbon, one quarter coffee."

"The shit you've been dealing with the past year? You deserve that," he gestures to the mug clasped tightly in my hands. "Bree-Anne's parents know?" he asks, as he reaches into the breast pocket of his blue, red and white plaid shirt and pulls out a pack of cigarettes.

"She left them a message at their hotel." I reply, then pluck a smoke and the lighter from the pack as he offers it to me. "Something tells me they aren't going to be happy," I say, and slipping a cigarette between my lips, spark the lighter and then inhale deeply as the smoke comes to life. "Her old man's all but been cursing me into eternal damnation for almost four years now."

"Fuck 'em," my father growls, as he lights his own cigarette. "You know, we're all entitled to believe what we want. Pray to whatever God and all the angels and saints that float our boat. I'm not going to stand here and declare the Douglas' the epitome of what the perfect Catholic family should be. And I'm not going to bitch and moan about what a bunch of bible freaks they are either. But I won't stand for them treatin' my boy like that. If I do recall correctly, there's something in the Great Book about the person with no sins casting the first stone."

"That's pretty much right," I confirm.

"We've all screwed up in our lives," my dad continues. "There's not one person on this earth that hasn't made a mistake. Some have made little ones, some have had monumental fuck ups. And I find it hard to swallow that Bree-Anne's dad is so goddamn condescending and judgemental considering the life he was leading before he found Jesus. He didn't find the big guy upstairs until he met her mother, remember? And between you and I…" he leans into me and lowers his voice. "I never told you any of this before, but when you and that pretty little gal of yours first met, I did a little checking on her old man and found a whole load of skeletons in his closet."

I sip my coffee as opposed to responding. I'm more surprised that my dad had not only run Breezy's father through the system -which back then couldn't have been an easy, quick task considering he didn't have the technology at his disposal that the department now possesses- but that he'd kept the results to himself for so long. However, I'm not shocked that my fiancée's dad as a dark past. After he'd pulled the bullshit with me following Dean's trial, I'd ran his name through the database and had been startled by the size of his rap sheet. I'd been ready to call him on it too. I was prepared to fuck up his life as much as he had mine. And the only thing that had stopped me was my love and respect for Breezy. I was pretty sure she was oblivious to his past, and I didn't want to hurt her even more by exposing him.

"Makes me sick that that SOB can sit up on some goddamn pulpit and condemn you for mistakes you made," my dad angrily declares. "And that he can treat his own daughter and his grandson…his flesh and blood…_my_ flesh and blood, like he is. You know, God doesn't forget your past shit just 'cause you decide hiding behind Him is better than manning up and accepting responsibilities for your mistakes. And you…" he takes a drag on his smoke. "…what you're doing here is a good thing, Don. You're stepping up to take care of Bree-Anne and your boy. Takes a big man to accept all of that."

"I'm marrying her because I love her," I say. "Not because I feel obligated to. I love her. I've always loved her. And us getting married and raising Collin together? Having more kids? We would have been doing all that already if…"

"Dean Truby hadn't been a royal fuck up," my old man finishes for me. "Mind you, your mother and I didn't raise you to run around with another man's wife no matter what a pitiful excuse for a human being he may be."

"We should have handled things differently," I admit. "We should have just told him from the get go that…"

"Could have, should have, would have. You can't live in the past, Don. Your future is right in front of you. That's what you need to concentrate on. Devote yourself to."

I nod in agreement, and take a long, slow drag of my smoke.

"Look son…" my old man sighs heavily, and finishing off his cigarette, butts it out against the cement below his feet and then tosses it into the coffee can. "I know that you and I don't always see eye to eye, and that we don't have the greatest relationship…"

"That's an understatement," I mumble.

"And I also know I haven't been the best father to you. Or to Chris and Sammie. And I'm the first to admit that I'm a complete disaster when it comes to being a dad and a husband. I know that. But maybe this is a second chance for us. Maybe you getting back together with Bree-Anne and bringing her and Collin back into our lives…well maybe in some way they'll fix what's wrong with us. Or at least I hope they will."

I manage a small smile. "I hope so too, dad."

"You know…" he takes a swig of coffee. "You're an incredible cop, Don. I'm always amazed at how far you've come at such a young age. And at how much you keep growing and achieving within the department. But at the end of the day…well at the end of the day a man isn't measured by the amount of arrests he'd made or the high profile busts under his belt or how fast he climbs the ranks. A man…a _real man_…is measured by what he achieves in his life. By how many other lives he touches, how many people he loves, how many love him in return. And just by that alone…well you've got me beat hands down, son. You're a far bigger and better man that I could ever hope to be. And that's what makes me most proud of you."

My eyes widen and bear the unmistakable burn of tears as a lump of emotion forms in my throat. It's the first time that my dad has ever said the coveted P word. I've been working my ass off for years; giving my all to the job and to the city. I've shed blood, sweat and tears for the NYPD. And most of all for him. So that I'd one day have him slap me on the back or hug me and tell me that he was proud of me. That I've done good. I've spent so long trying to make him notice me and to work my way out for underneath his shadow that I sometimes barely know myself anymore. While struggling for an identity, I'd somehow manage to lose most of what I'd already had.

* * *

The screen door creaks open once again and I look back towards the house, feeling a smile spread across my face as Breezy steps out onto the porch in her bare feet.

"Sorry for interrupting boys," she says. "But the food's here and Patty wants you both in there as of yesterday."

"And you know what your mother is like when you don't snap to attention when she wants something," my dad mutters, nudging me playfully with his elbow before he struggles to his feet. "Besides, I want to get my grandson into the sweet and sour sauce before his mommy or nana tell him he's not allowed that many goodies," he picks up his mug, gives Breezy a wink, pecks her cheek then disappears inside.

"Is it just me or is he really taking to the whole grandfather thing exceptionally well," she comments, a smile on her face as she watches him go.

"I don't know who that…" I jerk my head towards the house as I butt out and dispose of my cigarette. "...is or what he's done with my father, but I think he should stick around."

Breezy nods in agreement, and then graces me with a soft smile as I stand up. "Are you okay, handsome?" she asks. "You seem a little…"

"I'm fine," I assure her, and laying my hands alongside of her delicate face, press a kiss to her forehead. "I missed that, you know," I tell her, as I allow my hands to slip down to her shoulders and then trail my fingers all the way down her arms and over the tops of her hands. "Hearing you call me that."

"It was the only pet name you'd let me use," she reminds me, and runs the nails on both index fingers along my palms before taking my hands in hers. "And you know what? I missed calling you that."

"Yeah? Well you've got about…I don't know…fifty years…to call me that."

"Fifty years?" she asks, and I place my lips against the space between her eyes and nod. "No…that doesn't seem long enough to me."

"Sixty?" I try. "That would make us ninety five."

"Nope…" she shakes her head again, and giggles against my mouth as I brush my lips against hers but pull back slightly when she tries to kiss me. "Still not long enough," she says.

"Well unless we live to a hundred and five…"

"I was thinking more along the lines of an eternity," she tells me.

"Sounds good to me," I say, then holding her arms down at her side, tighten my grip on her hands and lean in for a proper kiss. It's long, soft and sweet. And bears the promise of so much more to come. A symbol of the lifetime of kisses that we still have ahead of us.

There's a grimace on her face when the need for air becomes a dire necessity and I finally draw away from her.

"I know…" I sigh. "It's like licking an ashtray. I'll quit, okay? I already promised you that I would."

"It's actually the booze," she says, and brings her shoulder up to her mouth in order to wipe it clean. "You get into the good stuff and you don't bother to invite me to the party?"

"Trust me, I've got access to enough booze for us to have a very good time tomorrow night," I promise.

Her eyes sparkle flirtatious. "I had another idea of a good time in mind for tomorrow," she says.

"Yeah?" I drop her hands and wrap my arms around her. "And does this good time involve something lacy and naughty?" I ask.

"It could," she replies, and I cover her mouth with mine in another kiss. This time much more aggressive, demanding and needy.

"You know what I want for dessert, nanny?" we hear Collin ask from inside. "I want putang pie!"

There's the distinct clatter of silverware and a mutter of "Jesus Mary and Joseph!" from my old man. And as my mother questions as to what putang pie actually is, my dad tells her not to worry about it, that she doesn't need to know.

Breezy gives a loud snort in shock and amusement and her laughter brings an abrupt end to our kiss.

"You really have to watch what you say around him," she scolds me. "He's a sponge. And he repeats everything."

"I have cherry pie or peach pie," my mom tells her grandson. "But no putang pie. I'll have to look that up later."

"Pat…" my father sighs. "I told you that you didn't need to know."

"I'd like some putang pie later," a devilish grin tugs at my lips as I run my hands slowly over my fiancee's ass. "Wouldn't mind getting a taste of yours when we're alone."

She rolls her eyes, then stands on her tiptoes and brushes a kiss against my lips. "If you're good," she says, then slips out of my embrace and heads for the door.

"Baby, I can be a freaking angel when it comes to you," I declare, and she gives me a smile and a wink over her shoulder before disappearing into house.

I can be a lot of things when it comes to you, I think.

I just hope that they're what you want me to be.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and even just lurking! I appreciate all of the support and I am truly humbled!!!**

**Special thanks to:**

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**Soccer-bitch**


	26. Collide

**DISCLAIMER: SAME AS BEFORE. I OWN SHIT.**

**USE OF ITALICS DENOTES A FLASHBACK**

* * *

**Collide**

"I'm open, you're closed  
Where I follow, you'll go  
I worry I won't see your face  
Light up again

Even the best fall down sometimes  
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme  
Out of the doubt that fills my mind  
I somehow find you and I collide

I'm quiet you know  
You make a first impression  
I've found I'm scared to know  
I'm always on your mind."  
-Collide, Howie Day

* * *

_**Breezy's POV**_

_Queens Garden Rehabilitation and Wellness Center is located in Ridgewood; a twenty-five minute drive from Flushing on a good traffic and weather day. Based out of a centuries old red Victorian home that's been gutted and remodelled over the years to provide adequate care and space; it's a private facility that provides physiotherapy for both walk in and admitted patients. There's several long term care beds on the south side of the building that are used primarily for stroke victims or those suffering from an acquired brain injury, and with limited availability there's a waiting list for live in care that's stretches for two years. On the opposite side of the home is the rehab facility for patients that are of 'able' body. Who don't need around the clock care and who can find their way to appointments, whether it be through the city's disabled transportation system, family members or on their own free will. There's a pool used for swimming laps and hot tubs for easing the aches and paints out of muscles and joints, along with a fully equipped gym and a staff of therapists that rival any in the state._

_Eight years ago, My older brother -the one closest in age to me- Duncan had spent three weeks as an out patient there after he'd decided that he could still drive after a dozen beers and had ploughed his pick up truck into a concrete median outside of Shea Stadium. He's spent nearly three months in the hospital with both legs in traction, a shattered collarbone and right arm, and a fractured skull, and there'd been fear that some swelling on the brain the first few days after his accident would leave him with some form of developmental or cognitive delay. To this day, he still can't tie his shoes properly -it makes him dizzy to bend over that far and his hands shake so bad his fingers can't grasp the intricate movements- and while he's on full time disability and spends his days in chronic pain, he's able to live semi-independently in a group home up in Albany. He has his own contained apartment and a bird to keep him company, but there's round the clock staff that troll the halls and knock on doors to make sure that all the tenants are taking care of themselves properly and that they're not posing a threat to themselves or anyone else._

_He refuses to see anyone in our family save for my father. Apparently he thinks that all of daddy's heavy handed religious teachings and his 'prayers for salvation and forgiveness' will somehow make him whole again. That he's going to wake up one morning and be the same Duncan he was eight years ago. The last time I'd gone to see him had been a little over a year ago, when I'd taken Dean to meet him. Duncan and I had always been close growing up; he was only eight years older than me and had been the only one of my brothers that had wanted anything to do with me when I was a little kid. The rest were all too old and too caught up in their own lives to want a baby sister tagging along with them, but Dunny, as I called him, had happily let me follow him around the neighbourhood like a lost puppy. Saturday afternoon's getting ice cream at the Baskin Robins in downtown Flushing had been our thing. He'd take me every weekend, attentively following beside me on his skateboard while I rode my bike, and we'd always order the same thing. Two scoops of peanut butter chocolate chip for me, three of pralines and cream for him and we'd always sit at the park bench at the corner of Main and Lincoln; having to wave past the number three bus when it pulled up every hour on the quarter._

_It had been Duncan that had been the most worried and overprotective when I'd gotten my first boyfriend at fourteen. He hadn't cared that Donnie was one of the most popular, sought after boys in my high school, or that his father was an NYPD legend. As far as Dunny was concerned, no guy was good enough for his baby sister and anyone who dared to come within five feet of me had to prove to my brother that he was more than worthy to hold my hand in public and that he wasn't going to break my heart. I'm not entirely sure whether Donnie had actually been amused or annoyed by my brother's ground rules or if he'd even been even slightly intimidated. Dunny had inherited by father's size and strength; he was six foot three and nearly 225 by the time he hit grade ten, and as a young adult he was a terrifying presence. Donnie had been no slouch at fourteen though, and a rough upbringing at the hands of his father had both toughened and wizened him beyond his years. He wasn't afraid of anyone and didn't think twice about mouthing off or stepping on someone's toes to get what he wanted. And in grade nine, what he had wanted was me. And my brother wasn't about to rain on his parade and he'd come right out and told Duncan that what went on between us was our business, and it he didn't keep his nose out it, then he was going to find himself without a nose on that pretty face of his._

_They'd become immediate friends after that despite their age difference. And I had felt safe and secure knowing that I had two strong, attentive and caring guys that would never break my heart._

_I miss my brother. At least the person who used to be my brother. After I'd gone to see him at the group home to introduce him to Dean, I'd realize that I couldn't put myself through the agony of having Dunny in my life anymore. He was a complete and total stranger to me; moody, violent and mentally unstable. He scared me and I didn't trust him anymore. I was frightened to be alone in his company, and after he'd thrown a plate of food at my head and had called me a condescending and miserable bitch and accused me of treating him like a retard, I've never gone near Albany again. It had been a total disaster; all I'd done was offer to cut his meat for him because his hands had been shaking so bad he couldn't hold the cutlery. And if it hadn't been for Dean manhandling my brother when he'd come after me, there's no saying what Dunny would have done to me._

_Now I'm wondering what Dean has done to himself, and to me. A year and a bit into our relationship and only two months into our marriage and he no longer seems like the same person. When we'd first met, he'd been charming and attentive and had made me feel like there was no other woman on earth that could possibly measure up to me. During our dating stage, he had showered me with compliments and flooded my voicemail and email with messages and constantly had flowers delivered to the school. I was the envy of all the other young, single teachers; he was tall and strong and extremely well built and devastatingly handsome. Not to mention he was a cop, which seemed to tickle the fancy of all the ladies who had admitted 'cuff fetishes'. I'd fallen in love with him hard and fast; the first guy that had ever come along that could somewhat measure up to the undisputed love of my life. But that ship had sailed long ago. I'd let my proverbial knight in shining armour get away my first summer home from college and save for a brief and unexpected meeting five years ago, we'd gone our separate ways. We had two distinctly different paths to our lives and I'd long ago accepted that things would have never worked out to begin with. We'd been young and immature then, and as we grew up we would have realized that we had very little in common and that there was just nothing holding us together as a couple save for the sake that we felt comfortable with each other. _

_So I'd thrown myself into the relationship with Dean and had readily agreed to married him. I didn't want to be on the shelf forever and he was a great catch after all. But I'd be lying if I said I hadn't had a moment of hesitation and second guessing the night before. Where I didn't have that Flushing, Queens phone book cracked open and resting in my lap, prepared to call every Flack that was listed until someone agreed to give me Donnie's number. And I'd come so close -only one number and the talk button standing in my way- from dialling his parents and begging them to get me in contact with him. I still had so much to say to him, so many things that had been sitting heavily on my chest and so many regrets that I needed to purge from my system. I still loved him. I would always love him. And maybe…just maybe…he felt the same way too and would be that one person that could talk me out of making what would turn out to be the biggest mistake of my life._

_I'd never made that call. I'd gone ahead with the wedding and now a piece of paper and that thin white gold band on my left ring finger made me Mrs. Dean Truby. A man that was quickly becoming a stranger to me. I'd thought that the switch to homicide would be a good one; with vice came the worries that he'd be called undercover or that he'd be hurt while taking part in a massive drug bust. Going into a different department within the detective borough had been a welcome change, and Dean had been excited and looking forward to the 'new scenery' and the group of guys he'd be working worth. Less than four weeks in and there's something not quite right about him. He's withdrawn and sullen; spending way too much time drinking out with the boys for my liking when we're supposed to be newlyweds in the process of trying to start a family. And when he is home, he's bitchy and miserable and nothing I ever do for him seems right. I know that he'd never physically hurt me, but the things that he's capable of saying and has unleashed on several occasions have done more damage than any punch or kick ever could._

_Unfortunately, he's not the only one in this marriage who's changed. I'd kept my distance after I'd gone to visit Donnie in the hospital. Those two afternoons at his bedside had been emotionally draining, and I'd alternated between holding his hand and stroking his hair and crying while I told him that I still loved him. That part of me always would. And then I'd promised God and myself that if he just got better, if he just pulled through, I'd stay away and give Dean and our marriage every piece of my heart and soul._

_And then I'd broken that vow ; I had challenged myself three nights ago and had failed miserably. I had thought that by forcing myself to see Donnie again, to be in such a close proximity to him, that it would make me realize that the past was just that. The past. That I was grown up and mature and everything that I'd felt for him had been as a teenage girl thinking that she was madly and hopelessly in love. That I'd fooled myself into thinking at a young age that he was my be all and end all. My always and forever. And that by walking into that precinct and seeing him again and letting him know that I'd gone on with my life, that I'd be sending not only myself the message that we were long over, but him as well. _

_Only the best laid plans don't always turn out. And it had become startlingly clear the moment he'd hugged me and I'd felt those strong arms around me and I'd breathed in his masculine, alluring scent that I hadn't gotten over him. That I probably never would. I still wanted him; with such a ferocious intensity that it had physically hurt. Both good, and bad. While my stomach had fluttered and throbbed with the tell tale sign of the tremendous desire and longing that I still possess for him, my heart had ached because of all the regrets I have and all of the years that have passed between us. And the only thing that I'd been able to think about as we stood embracing at the side of his desk had been how Donnie should have been my husband. That the rings I sport on my left hand should be from him and how it should have been the two of us planning on starting a family together. As awful as it feels to admit it, I still belong to him._

_I don't think that Dean is even aware of the history, or the lingering feelings, that exist between Donnie and I. In fact, he'd completely bought the explanation that we'd simply gone to high school together and had been peppering me with questions about it since. I don't get the sense that he's digging for information because he thinks I'm being deceitful; I truly think he's merely curious about what Donnie had been like 'back in the day'._

_I shouldn't be hiding all of this from him, I know that. I should just be upfront and honest and admit that Donnie and I had been boyfriend and girlfriend. I'm only hedging on telling my husband because I'm afraid of what his reaction will be like. The old Dean would have just shrugged; confident enough in himself and in our relationship to not feel threatened by an old flame of mine. But the new Dean…the new Dean is frightening and I already feel as if I'm walking on egg shells around him. And I'm worried that news of my past with someone he knows will set off a dark and violent side that I never even knew existed._

_Which should have been enough to keep me from coming here today. The fear of the unknown should have served to keep me far away from Donnie and the dangers he poses to my heart. And my devotion to make my marriage work no matter what -something that's been hammered into me every day of my life since I was just a little girl- should have compelled my common sense to do the right thing._

_But it's my heart that is ruling things. That's leading me every step of the way, full speed ahead. I feel powerless to stop it. I'm running on auto=pilot with no thought on the consequences and who may get hurt._

_Patricia Flack had told me about today's appointment. I'd run into her while out shopping in downtown Flushing with my mom two days ago. It had been my mother who'd asked all the questions about how Donnie was recuperating after the bombing, and I'd tried my best to seem interested and genuinely concerned without seeming too eager for information. And when the woman who'd I'd always thought would be my mother in law coughed up the good on her son's final rehab appointment, I'd committed every little detail to memory._

_And now I sit behind the wheel of my car with the engine idling and the wipers working overtime as rain hammers against the windshield. A sound that directly mirrors the thundering of my heart. I know that this is a bad idea; I don't even know why I'm here in the first place. All I do know is that I have this overwhelming need to see him. I __**have **__to see him. And maybe deep down I need to find out for myself if he's feeling the same way about me._

_Sighing heavily, I close my eyes briefly and force myself to get a grip. I can't go walking in there like a nervous, self conscious school girl. I'm not fourteen years old anymore. I'm a confidant, strong and independent women who's more than capable of taking care of herself. Who doesn't need a man in her life._

_But who so desperately wants the one who currently __**isn't**__ in it. _

_Opening my eyes, I give a firm nod -I'm going to do this, I heed to do this- then kill the ignition and scoop the small gift blue and silver stripped gift bag off of the seat next to me. I toss open my door and slam it behind me as I slip out of my car, and as I scurry through the driving rain I can only hope and pray that I'm doing the right thing._

_

* * *

_

_The gym bears the distinct scent of perspiration, medicated pain cream, and chlorine from the pool and hot tubs in the neighbouring room. Several patients and their respective therapists are hard at work; shouts and chants of encouragement and praise linger on the air along with grunts of pain and frustration. There's a soft humming noise as one of the clients works out on an exercise bike and the clinking of iron weights as two others concentrate on improving their upper body strength. The remaining patients are spread throughout the gym on the matted floor, and just as my eyes land on who I've come to see, the receptionist who's escorted me all the way from the sign in desk just inside of the main entrance, lays a hand on my upper arms and then points across the room._

"_That's Detective Flack right there," she says, and something in her voice and eyes makes me wonder if she's looking at him as far more than a patient. And for some reason, I'm hit with a sudden surge of possessiveness and jealousy._

"_Thank you," I give an overly polite smile, and then slipping out of my runners, head through the gym in my socks. Silently pleading with my heart the entire way to settle itself down. _

_My hormones aren't helping matters either; I can't help the lust and desire from coursing through me as I watch him lying flat on his back, clad in a pair of grey sweats and a tattered and faded NYPD t-shirt that's soaked with sweat. His chest heaves from excursion, and his right forearm lies over his eyes as his left hand rests lightly on his stomach and his feet tap out a steady rhythm as the buds of an Ipod blast music into his ears._

_Swallowing noisily and fanning myself off with my hand, I crouch down alongside of his prone body and reach out to pluck one of the buds out of his ears._

"_Need some help getting up there, handsome?" I ask, then bit my bottom lip nervously as I notice the way his body stiffens._

_Donnie removes the forearm from over his eyes and gives me that patented grin, the one that dimples his left cheek and makes me weak in the knees. I notice that the twinkle in his usually vibrant blue eyes has dulled considerably, a give away to how much he's really suffering underneath that smile._

"_Go figure this place hires someone hot on my last day," he quips. _

"_Oh I'm sure that you had a bevy of beauties hanging on your every word," I tease, as I stand up once more. "No lady can resist those pretty blue eyes and that smile."_

"_Maybe…" he says. "But I'm into red heads and they don't have any here."_

_I inwardly scold myself for blushing, then lean down and offer a hand when he struggles to get into a sitting position. _

_A frown covers his face as he stares at my hand, and just as I attempt to pull it away, he curls his long, strong fingers around mine and using his left elbow, pushes himself up into a sit. I realize I wasn't much of a help; he only outweighs my nearly a hundred pounds, but it had been the sentiment that counted the most._

"_Anyone else and I would have bitched about doing it myself." Donnie says._

"_That's because I'm the only one that's never bought into your macho bullshit," I retort. "Or let you get away with it."_

"_Small but deadly," he winks up at me, then pats his hand against the mat. "Might as well take a load off," he says. "I'm waiting for the therapist to finish my discharge papers."_

_I drop down onto my knees, and then manoeuvre myself into a sit beside him. "How are you feeling?" I ask, then arch both my eyebrows and stare at him pointedly. "And don't even think about handing me a line of shit, Donald." _

"_I'm better than I was six months ago, but not nearly as good as I should be to be back on the job," he admits. _

"_But you're still back on it," I point out. "Why are you…?"_

"_Because I need to be back to work," he informs me. "Because I have to keep myself busy. I can't be sitting on my ass at home and going stir crazy."_

"_So maybe the department can give you modified duty," I suggest. "I know when Dean hurt his knee and couldn't do the job properly they put him on desk work for a bit and…"_

"_Well I don't do desk work," agitation seeps into his voice. "And I'm not Dean."_

_I hold my hands up in surrender, and try not to show how deeply his words have wounded me. I want to tell him that I know he's not Dean, that Dean could never measure up to him no matter how hard he tries. That he possesses the one thing Dean never will: my heart._

"_I'm sorry," I say. "I shouldn't have said that. I was just trying to help."_

"_I know," Donnie sighs. "And I appreciate it. I do. But I'd appreciate it more if you wouldn't talk to me about your husband. Bad enough I have to work alongside of the guy; boss him around from time to time. Listen to him go on and on about how amazing you are and having to stop myself from punching him in the face when he talks about personal shit; makes you sound like some cheap whore off the street and not his wife."_

_I blink at the harshness in his voice. And at the anger that seeps out of him as he speaks the truth. _

"_If I was you, I wouldn't put up with that shit," Donnie continues. "You think that's okay? That he talks about you like that? That he treats you like that, Breezy? __**You're**__ better than that. You deserve so much more than him."_

_I nod slowly, my eyes riveted on my hands as they fidget with my shoelaces. There's a part of me that's hurt that he's speaking to me this way, and another that's relieved and grateful that he obviously still cares enough about me to want to defend my honour. But I'm worried that my coming here was a huge mistake; that if things keep going the way they are, we'll end up parting ways under much different, more painful circumstances._

"_What are you doing here anyway?" Donnie asks, and then softens his tone when he realizes how harsh he'd sounded. "I mean, I'm glad to see you and I'm happy that you're here," he quickly adds. "I'm just…surprised. How'd you even know I was here?"_

"_I ran into your mom a couple days ago and she told me about your last therapy appointment," I tell him. "I asked her where it was and what time and I just decided that maybe you wouldn't mind the company. That maybe you'd like a friend here with you."_

_He nods in appreciation, then reaches out and tucks a piece of hair behind my right ear. "Thanks," he says simply, that one word and that smile he flashes along with it easing the anxiety that had been threatening to conquer me. "Does D…"_

"_No," I interrupt before he has a chance to finish. "He doesn't know. And he doesn't need to. I thought you didn't want to talk about him?"_

"_I don't," Donnie says. "In fact, I'd kinda like to forget that he even exists. Or find a way to have him transferred out of homicide. Hell, out of the state even."_

"_Jealousy __**was**__ always your main fault," I retort, then nudge him playfully with my elbow. _

_He gives a little smirk, and then nods down at the bag sitting next to me. "What'cha got there?" he asks._

"_I come bearing gifts," I reply, and picking up the item in question, plop it in his lap. "I wanted to get you a little something. You've come so far and you've done so well that I wanted to…I don't know…just open it, okay?"_

"_You didn't have to, Breezy," Donnie says._

"_No, I didn't. But I wanted to."_

_He smiles at that, then pulls out the navy blue tissue paper and sets it on the mat before digging into his hand into the bag. "Why do I get the feeling I might get pissed off that you spent way too much on me?" he asks, as he removes the black velvet box from inside. _

"_You mean the same way you did every Christmas and birthday we spent together?" I inquire with a laugh. "You always did hate me buying you things."_

"_I'm a giver, not a taker," he reasons, then flips open the lid on the box, his eyes widening in surprise as the contents are revealed._

"_It's a Celtic protection cross," I explain, as he delicately lifts the white gold chain and charm from its resting place. "I thought of getting you a Saint Michael's medallion but every cop in the city probably has one and I wanted to be different."_

"_It's beautiful," he says, a hint of awe peeking through the surprise. _

"_I even had it engraved on the back," I place my fingers over his left wrist and turn his hand over so that the back of the pendant is showing. "Your first, middle and last initial and your DOB are there…" _

"_What's that second date?" he asks. _

"_That's the date that you came out of the coma," I reply. "The day that you…well the day that you were born again…in a physical sense…the day you came back to us."_

_He gives a small sniffle; there's no chance of hiding the emotion that has taken over his face and his eyes. "Thank you," he clears his throat noisily. "It means a lot. Especially 'cause it's coming from you."_

"_Here…" I take the necklace from him, then getting up onto my knees, move behind him. "Let me do it for you," I offer._

"_Ba…" he catches himself before he can say 'baby'. The term of affection -aside from my nickname- he'd always used for me when we were dating. "Breezy, I'm all sweaty and nasty. Let me put it on after I shower."_

"_Now," I insist, and opening the clasp on the chain, bring one end around his neck, then the other. "I want you to wear it now," I tell him, and fasten it securely. _

"_You always get your way?" he asks with a chuckle._

"_You've known me since we were fourteen," I respond. "You really have to ask that?"_

"_People do change," he reasons, and lays a hand over the pendant as it falls to his chest. "Thank you," he says. _

"_I'm glad that you like it," I smile, and lean in to press a kiss to his cheek. At the exact same time he turns his face towards mine. And before I can react or pull away, his lips come in contact with mine. An accidental kiss that is soft and simple yet sends shockwaves stampeding through my entire body. _

_Donnie pulls away first, a shocked, apologetic expression on his face. "Jesus Breezy…I'm sorry…I never should have done that…I didn't mean to…"_

_Laying my hand on the back of his neck, I pull him into me and cover his mouth with mine in a soft, languid kiss. A moment that I've dreamt about since I was nineteen and a sensation that I've spent the last eleven years of my life missing every single day. I can feel his eyelashes fluttering against my cheeks as he closes his eyes, and I lose myself in his taste and his smell; the welcome familiarity of it all. His warm breath bathes my face when I finally pull away, and our chests are heaving and hearts hammering as our eyes slowly open and instantly lock on each other. _

"_I'm sorry…" I whisper. "I'm sorry I…"_

"_Breezy, don't…" he leans in to kiss me again and I abruptly pull away and scramble to my feet. _

"_I have to go," I hurry across the mat. "I'm sorry, Donnie. I'm sorry that I came here today. I'm sorry that I…I'm just sorry."_

"_Don't do this," he implores, and struggles to get to a stand position. "Don't run away from me. Don't run away from this."_

"_I have to," I force myself to keep going; to not look back. "I can't do this. We can't do this. We can't…"_

_Even in his somewhat vulnerable condition he manages to catch up to me just as I reach the exit, and I realize that every eye on the place is on us as he lays his palm against the door, preventing me from opening it. _

"_Please don't do this," I plead. "Please don't make this even harder on me than it has to be."_

"_You came to me, Bree-Anne," Donnie reminds me. "You came here on your own. Don't tell me that you didn't think something like this would happen."_

_I shake my head vigorously._

"_And don't tell me you didn't want something like this to happen either," he adds._

"_Maybe I did…" I say. "Maybe I did want this to happen. Maybe I did come here wanting something…anything…from you. Maybe I just wanted to see if you…"_

"_If I what?" he asks. "If I still have feelings for you? If I still want you? If I still __**love **__you?"_

"_Jesus…" I whimper and lay my forehead against the door. "Please don't do this."_

"_Don't do what? Don't be honest about how I feel? Don't let you leave? Don't…"_

"_Don't make this so hard on me!" I whirl around to face him. "Why are you doing this to me? Why? Why are you…?"_

"_You kissed me," Donnie points out. _

"_And you kissed me back!" I retort. "And don't tell me you didn't want to! Don't tell me you didn't want to the other night either!"_

"_Of course I wanted to kiss you. Now and then. I'm not afraid to admit it. Just like I'm not afraid to tell you that I wanted to do a hell of a lot more than that. Just like I'm not afraid to tell you that I still love you."_

_I valiantly hold the tears back. "I have to go," I tell him._

"_You're the one that's afraid, Breezy. You're afraid because you know that marrying Dean was a huge mistake. You fucked up and you don't know how to get yourself out of it. Because daddy wouldn't approve if you wanted out of your marriage."_

"_My father has nothing to do with this!" I snap._

"_Then tell me what you're so afraid of," Donnie goads. "Look me in the eyes and tell me what you're spooked about. Better yet, look me in the eyes and tell me that you don't still love me too."_

_I sigh heavily. _

"_You can't do it, can you," he states. "You can't do it 'cause you know I'm right. And that's what you're scared about."_

"_I…"_

"_Detective Flack?" a voice calls out from across the room. "I have your discharge papers if you'd like to sign them!"_

"_Wait for me," Donnie orders. "Just go outside and wait in your car. I'll just take care of things and take a shower and we'll…"_

_I shake my head. "I can't…I'm sorry…I can't…"_

"_You can," he insists._

"_No…" I stand on my tiptoes and press a chaste kiss to his lips. "I can't."_

_And then I swiftly turn on my heel, yank the door open and bolt from the room. _

* * *

The sound of the apartment door clicking open and then shutting again tears me out of my restless, troubled sleep. My head snaps up from it's resting position on the forearm I have laying across Donnie's cluttered kitchen table, and my eyes frantically scour the room in an attempt to orienate myself. I realize that I'm in his place; the same apartment that I'd spent more time in then my own four years ago. Across the room, Collin is already fast asleep in the protective 'nest' that we'd built for him. The love seat and sofa pushed facing one another and decorated with his pillow and comforter from home. Through the living room window I see that it's pitch black outside, and a quick glance at the clock on the DVD player tells me that it's quarter to ten.

I'd been out for almost an hour. I listen as the dead bolt is snapped in place and Luna's tags jingle noisily.

"Honey…I'm home…" Donnie says in a harsh whisper, and I glance over my shoulder as he appears in the hallway leading from the front door, toeing off his runners and then leaning down to unclip the leash from the puppy's neck.

I give him a smile.

"I even brought you a treat," he says.

"As in someone tall, dark and extremely handsome with pretty blue eyes?" I tease.

"So two treats," he grins, and holds up a Dunkin Donuts bag. "Chocolate croissants for us, one of them caramel dipped donuts for Collin."

"You still remember," I say, as he enters the living/dining area.

"You thought I'd forget your favourite treat?" he asks. "Come on…give me more credit than that…by the way," he drops the bag of goodies on the table, and placing a hand on the back of my chair, presses a kiss to my temple. "Luna has a boyfriend."

"Oh lovely," I giggle softly. "She works quick."

"Big old Husky that lives on the third floor," Donnie says. "He's got a good hundred pounds and about ten years on her, but I think he could still…you know…get his groove on."

"That dog is **so** going to get fixed ASAP," I grumble, as Luna rushes into the living room and manages to not only jump up into the nest, but misses Collin's sleeping form completely and then settles herself down into a tight ball next to his head.

"He's out like a light?" Donnie asks, as I turn my face into his for a quick, soft kiss before he journeys over to the couch.

"All the excitement from today," I reply and giving a yawn, pick up the mug of tea I'd originally sat down with. Taking a sip, I immediately grimace at the taste of the foul, lukewarm warm liquid. "We wore him out."

"At least he's comfortable here," Donnie says, and leans over the couch to press a kiss to the top of our son's head. "I was worried about that."

"He just wants to be with his daddy," I tell him. "That's all that matters to him."

"All that matters to me too," my fiance says, then runs a hand over our baby's hair and walks back towards the table. "Well…I want to be with his mommy too…"

I smile up at him as he runs a hand over my hair and places his lips against my forehead.

"Tired?" he asks.

I nod.

"We should go to bed," Donnie says. "It's been a long day and we're both exhausted and we need sleep. And I mean _**actual**_ sleep. I'm just going to go and put some of those new sheets on the bed and fluff your pillows and…"

I capture him by the hand to prevent him from leaving.

"What's wrong baby?"he asks, and drops to his knees in front of my chair when he sees the tears in my eyes. "What's wrong? Why are you…"

"I made such a huge mistake," I fight to hold back a sob. "I'm sorry…I never…"

"Hey…" he takes my face in his hands. "What kind of mistake? You mean me and you? Agreeing to marry me? What…?"

"I never should have married Dean," I tell him. "I never should have married him or walked out of the re-hab place without you that day and I never should have…"

"Baby…" he silences me with a chaste kiss. "That's the past. All of that is ancient history as far as I'm concerned. None of that matters anymore, okay? All that matters is me and you and that little boy sleeping over there. That's it. We're a family now. Like we always should have been. None of that other stuff matters, Breezy."

I sniffle noisily and rest my forehead against his. "Tell me you love me," I whisper.

"I love you," Donnie says, and kisses the tip of my nose. "I love you now, I loved you then, I'll love you always…"

I smile and press my lips against his. "I love you," I tell him. "So much. And I…"

"No more, okay? No more apologies. No more regrets. Ever. The future starts now, baby. Right here, right now, alright?"

I nod, and he kisses me a final time before dropping his hands from my face and standing up.

"Come on…" Donnie offers a hand. "Let's go to bed. Let's just go in there and get some shuteye. Together. Even if you do fall asleep on my arm and I can't feel it in the morning."

"That's a Brad Paisley song," I say, and curling my fingers around his, stand up. "Little Moments. 'About the time she falls asleep, so does my right arm'."

"Guy's obviously spent at least one night with you," Donnie teases, then chuckles when I swat him in the stomach. "Let's go to bed," he says again, and tugs me in the direction of the hallway. "Our bed."

I smile.

Our bed.

I love the sound of that.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and just plain lurking! I appreciate all the support!**

**Special thanks to:**

**CSINYMinute**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Soccer-bitch**

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**Woodland Flower**

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**Blue Eyed Author**

**New-york-babeee**

**RoxyAngel**


	27. Crack the Shutters

**DISCLAIMER: THE SAME AS BEFORE…I OWN NOTHING.**

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER BEARS AN M RATING. PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK. IF YOU'RE NOT COMFORTABLE WITH SMUT, FEEL FREE TO SKIM AHEAD!**

**THANKS TO CASS FOR ALL OF HER HELP! HUGS AND KISSES TO YA, GIRL!**

**HOPE I SUCCEEDED IN MAKING A WHOLE LOT OF Y'ALL HAPPY! I'VE GOT EVERYTHING MIXED INTO ONE. FREEZY FLUFF, FREEZY SMUT AND SOME GOOD OLD DADDY FLACK AND COLLIN MOMENTS. ENJOY!**

**OKAY, SO THE RATING MAY GO UP ON THIS STORY. SO IF IT DISAPPEARS FROM THE MAIN BOARD, IT WILL BE ON THE M RATED ONE! **

* * *

**Crack the Shutters**

"You cool your bedwarm hands down  
On the broken radiator

When you lay them freezing on me  
I mumble can you wake me later

But I don't really want you to stop  
And you know it so it doesn't stop you

You run your hands from my neck  
To my chest

Crack the shutters open wide  
I want to bathe you in the light of day

And just watch you as the rays  
Tangle up around your face and body

I could sit here for hours  
Finding new ways to be awed each minute

'Cause the daylight seems to want you  
Just as much as I want you."  
-Crack the Shutters, Snow Patrol

* * *

_**Flack's POV**_

The early morning sunshine trickling through the bent and tattered plastic mini blinds that cover the bedroom window bathes my face in warmth; serving as a more effective wake up call then any alarm clock. My eyes slowly flicker open and a low groan in protest rumbles in my throat. Physically I'm exhausted, and the dull ache that radiates from my stomach to my back and travels up to my chest -phantom sensations the doctors call it, a psychological glitch in my system that still lingers six years after the bombing- is screaming at me to get some more sleep. Emotionally, I'm wired and rejuvenated, reborn even. The path head of me is an exciting and promising one. For the first time in a little more than a year, I'm actually looking forward to climbing out of bed every day and putting one foot in front of the other. I have purpose now: two people that depend on me to function as a human being, to provide and care for them. I'm loving every second of being a daddy; it's a thrilling and surreal experience getting to know my incredible little boy, the miracle I'd helped to create. And in a short span of two and a half months, I'll be a husband. To the woman that has held my heart and soul captive since I was fourteen years old. Who is capable of rendering me breathless with the most tender of kisses and makes me weak in the knees with the smallest of smiles or the simplest of touches.

This honestly seems too good to be true. It's almost difficult to wrap my head around the fact that I'm not only a father, but that I'm back together with Breezy after so long. That we're quickly making plans to become husband and wife and to raise our son together; that we're banking on a long and happy future as a family. And what I find the hardest to grasp and find reason is, is why someone like me actually deserves something so incredible happening to him. When Jess had died and I'd killed Simon Cade, I'd slowly slipped into a bottom pit of despair and guilt. I had no longer been able to recognize myself; my behaviour had made me sick to my stomach yet I'd felt powerless to save myself. I'd been a pitiful excuse for a man, a valuable waste of breathing space even. I don't know what I've done to deserve being happy again -it's a contentment and wholeness I've never experienced before- but I do know that I'll be eternally grateful to whatever higher power decided a douche like me was entitled to a second chance.

I glance towards the open window as a sudden gust of wind causes the blind to flutter and smack against the wooden frame. The breeze is cool and refreshing; a stark contrast to the excessive heat and humidity that New York City has been victimized by since the start of summer. And it tickles my bare shoulders and chest and the bottom of my feet as they poke out from the edge of the wrinkled top sheet I'd drawn over Breezy and I the night before. Having her back in my bed is nothing short of incredible; breathing in her soft yet intoxicating scent, feeling her silky hair brushing against my skin and her warm flesh and luscious, inviting curves pressed against my body. Hearing her murmur and sigh in her sleep and knowing that if I were to reach out for her in the middle of the night, I'd find her there. For real. That I wasn't just dreaming or my weary, troubled mind wasn't playing tricks on me. Just to know that she was there, sleeping so soundly and peacefully alongside of me was worth all the heartache of the past four years.

Outside of these four walls, the street below is already boisterous and full of life. Car tires crunching on garbage that litters the street as the cars, the distinct sound of grinding and squeaking metal as shop keeps draw across security gates and roll down their canopies to advertise that they're open for business, dogs barking and the tags on their collars jingly noisily as their owners stroll the sidewalk; conversations and laughter floating on the air as pedestrians stop to chat. A rarity for New York City during the week when everyone is caught up in the hustle and bustle of getting to work on time; punching the clock day in and day out. This is my first Saturday off in a month and my initial plans had been to meet up with Messer and a couple of my guys and a handful of the lab techs and lace up the roller blades and play some street hockey down in Adam Ross' stomping grounds in Brooklyn. I'd been shocked to find out that the geeky and slightly awkward lab rat was actually a huge hockey fan; a little piece of information I had only stumbled upon after he'd nearly been blown to bits while playing goal during a scrimmage with his buddies. It's surprising how well Adam and I actually get along, how much we have in common considering our two entirely different personalities. He's eccentric and high strung if you will, his ramblings and messy hair and wrinkled clothes -his 'frat boy, just rolled out of bed look' - a source of daily humour for me. Unlike Adam, I'm more laid back and put together -except for maybe the past year where I apparently forgot that I owned a razor and I ignored department dress code and showed up to work in creased and un-tucked shirts with the sleeves rolled up to my elbows and faded and well worn jeans- and I mean what I say and say what I mean. I'm not worried about whom I'll offend or whose feelings I might crush; I shoot from the hip and if someone doesn't like it, too damn bad. Whereas Adam, while goofy and capable of putting his foot in his mouth at the most unfortunate of moment, always seems as if he's walking on his tiptoes around everyone, as if he's navigating a minefield.

The fact that we're buddies -in the loosest sense of the word possible- is a shock. I've been to his place a few times; we'd hung out and played Guitar Hero and the Halo games while pigging out on fast food and downing a couple of cases of beer. I'd developed a whole new respect for the guy when he'd come to me first with the news that my sister, or at least her vehicle, had been involved with the whole craziness that was Ethan Scott aka Joe The Fuck Head Bank Robber. Adam had really put his ass on the line by alerting me about Sam's involvement; I can still see that deer caught in the headlights, terrified little kid look on his face as he crossed the squad room. Mac could have easily fired Ross' ass for not divulging the information to him first, and to this day I'm still grateful that kid took the risk he did and gave me the heads up and the time to deal with baby sister on my own.

Now if only he'd get off my ass about hooking up with his sister when she comes to town over Thanksgiving. Thanks but no thanks. Even though she is -if that was really her in the picture he'd shown me- totally, undeniably, smoking hot.

Giving a long, content sigh, I place my hands behind my head and stare up at the ceiling. The super never did come and re-stucco and paint the damn thing after the upstairs neighbour had busted their toilet tank during a domestic a year and a half ago with his live in girlfriend. The water had completely flooded my bedroom -thank God for the insurance that Jess had talked me into getting or else I would have been broke during to replace everything with out of pocket cash- and the management had assured me time and time again that he'd come and repair the damage.

The apartment itself, while I keep it relatively clean and organized, is a goddamn shameful mess. The heat -sparse at time- is supplied by the old-fashioned stand up radiators that are not only covered in chipped white paint and rust, but often boiling to the touch during the winter and completely unsafe with a kid around. The last thing I want is Collin touching the damn things and burning himself; maybe Home Depot has some kind of covering or at least the materials to create one. Then there's the scuffed hardwood with several pieces of missing pieces and others that stick to your bare feet and peel clean off when you walk across them and the lack of air conditioning during the sickly hot summers. And the constantly leaking hot water tap in the kitchen and an outlet near the stove that loves to short out from time to time and blow nearly every damn fuse in the place. And never mind that there's no screens on any of the windows. No more propping them open with stacks of books to get some fresh air; I'm not taking the chance of my son, curious to a fault, climbing up onto some furniture and running the squeezing out of the window and tumbling six stories.

The short of the matter is that this place is a write off when it comes to raising kids in it. In fact, Breezy doesn't deserve to live in a dump like this either. It had been good enough for a bachelor that worked an excessive amount of hours and spend more time at his girlfriend's place then his own. Had I married Jess, chances are we would have shacked up at her apartment or gotten a house close by her dad, and now that I have Breezy and Collin to worry about, my humble and slightly appalling abode just isn't going to cut it. We're going to need space; I'm banking on a bigger family here.

I've got visions of a nice little house in Flushing in mind with a finished recreation room, a decent amount of bedrooms and an ample backyard running through my mind when I feel the mattress shift beneath me and hear the rustle of sheets and murmurings and sighs emitting from the body next to me. And as I glance over, I'm greeted with a sleepy smile and the sight of Breezy's sparkling brown eyes.

Fuck…words cannot explain how much I'd missed her.

"Good morning," she mumbles, and wriggling her way across the bed, tucks herself into my side and nestles her face in the space between my neck and shoulders.

"Good morning," I say in return, and drop a kiss on the top of her head. "Sleep okay?"

She nods and presses her lips against my shoulder. "Did you?" she asks.

"Best sleep I've had in a hell of a long time," I admit, and removing my left arm from behind my head, slip it between her shoulders and her pillow.

"I didn't realize how much I'd actually missed sleeping with you," she says, as the fingers of her left hand trace lazy circles on my chest. "And waking up next to you," she adds. "I knew that I missed it, just…"

"Not how much," I finish for her.

"Exactly," she gives a long, content sigh. "What are you thinking about?" she inquires.

"Honestly? I'm thinking about a nice little two and a half storey, detached house in Flushing with three bedrooms and a finished basement and a big ass backyard that will hold not only the pack of dogs Collin's hell bent on having but the whole hockey team of offspring I'm planning on having with you," I reply, and feel her smile against the side of my neck.

"Thoughts of domestic bliss," she concludes, and gives a languorous stretch that pops her feet out from under the blanket. Giving me a view of that black and grey tattoo of a rosary that graces the top of her right foot and wraps around her ankle and shin.

"Best thoughts of all," I say, as I sneak my hand under her hair and the tips of my fingers softly stroke the nape of her neck.

"You know what I was thinking about?" she asks, as she drags a nail all the way from my Adam's apple to the waistband of my boxers. "Or what I was just dreaming about?"

"Please tell me it was the continuation of the one you were having the other night where I made an honest woman out of you on the kitchen table," I implore, then bite my bottom lip as the tip of her index fingers disappears under the elastic band on my shorts and then slides sideways across my skin.

"Not exactly," she giggles. "It was more the continuation of our little moment last night…"

"You mean the one where I got you down to that little tank top and those boy shorts you're wearing right now? Where I nearly managed to get you out of them and your son decided to have himself a nightmare and scream blue murder? You mean that moment?"

"Our son," she corrects, and nips at the side of my neck.

"The same moment that was ruined even further when I came back from being not only slayer of monsters and Boogeyman chaser but purveyor of a glass of warm milk and found you fast asleep and snoring like a freight train?"

"I was not snoring," she argues.

"Yes, babe. You were. Loud enough to rattle the windows and wake the dead. And if that wasn't enough, I had to carry on two conversations with you in your sleep about kitty litter, ketchup and tampons before you'd shut up for the night."

"Always an adventure," she laughs. "I know that you missed me and you've been just dying to get me back into your bed, but you really should have been more careful about what you wished for. I doubt you missed my sleep talking and this imaginary snoring you keep talking about."

"Let me tell you something young lady," I say, as I pull my arm out from under her, then use my body to push her over onto her back. "You do snore worse than any man I've ever known and you do talk incessantly and drive me insane," I inform her, then roll over onto my left hand side and prop myself on my elbow. "But you know what? I'll gladly put up with all of that just to have you here. Beside me. For the rest of my life."

"You are such a sappy bastard," she teases, reaching up to run her knuckles along one of my scruffy, unshaven cheeks. "And so fucking sexy first thing in the morning."

"Just first thing in the morning?" I ask, as she scraps her nail along the underside of my chin.

"All the time," she replies. "But first thing in the morning when your hair is all messed up and you haven't gotten around to shaving and you've got that dark and brooding look going on…" she sighs and runs the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip. "God, you have no idea how bad it makes me want you."

This is Breezy's version of dirty talk. She's the type of girl that blushes, squeals, and cries she's too embarrassed when it comes to allowing anything too dirty and scandalous to escape those beautiful, plush lips of hers. But who gets turned on in a heartbeat if you dare let loose the filthy speak. It's something I know from experience; how quickly she turns into a begging and quivering mess the second I place my lips by her ear and start spouting off the raunchy stuff.

There's something so insanely sexy about this early moment. About the heat and the desire that flows between us as live continues on outside the walls surrounding us and our son sleeps soundly out in the living room. The bottom of her hot pink and black polka dot cami has ridden up, revealing a decent slice of pale flesh for my eyes and quite possibly my hands and mouth to feast on, and catching a glimpse of the handful of faint stretch marks that mar her silky, pale skin, I'm unable to stop myself from laying my right hand on her stomach and tracing each mild imperfection with a fingertip.

Breezy shivers at my touch, then chews on her bottom lips as apprehension and faint nervousness clouds her eyes.

"What's wrong?" I ask. "You don't want me…"

"They're hideous," she whispers in response. "I've tried to get rid of them but I just can't seem to…"

"You're beautiful," I assure her, and press a feathery kiss against her lips. "Your hips are wider now," I comment, as I place the palm of my hand against her stomach and slide it slowly across her body; from hip to hip.

"I've had a baby," she responds.

"I know…" my hand comes to rest in the middle of her flat belly and I allow one of my fingers to toy with the sterling silver ring -complete with four leaf clover charm dangling from it- that travels through the skin just above the navel. "My baby," I say, and lean down to kiss her as my hand slips lower and the tips of my fingers drift across the skin just above the waistband of her boy shorts. "I wish I'd been there with you," I trail my lips across her cheek to her ear. "When you had my baby."

"You were," she whispers. "You were there, Donnie."

I smile into her hair both at her response and the whimper she gives and the way her back arches when I slip my hand down the front of her panties. "You're so amazing," I breathe against her ear. "I've missed you so much."

She tunnels her fingers in my hair and yanks me into a fierce kiss, our tongues fighting for dominance as she arches her back once more and she spreads her legs; allowing my hand to slip even further down those skimpy shorts. And she bails on the kiss and gives a loud moan; her head falling back and exposing her throat as one of my fingertips glide across her swollen, aching clit and delves between her warm, moist lips. And seizing the opportunity that's laid out before me, I drop my head and suckle and nibble at the sensitive flesh of her neck as I slide two fingers inside of her welcoming body and commence thrusting them and out.

"Just let it happen," I whisper against her throat, as I use the pad of my thumb to circle her clit. "Just relax and let it happen…"

Her hands tighten their grip on my hair and she bucks her hips against me as I curl my fingers back to find, and stimulate, her g-spot. She cries out, a sound I muffle with a possessive and greedy kiss, and as I feel the slight fluttering of the muscles in her stomach and those deep inside of her, I know that this is the beginning of an extremely satisfying end. And to help her along, I graze my teeth along her collarbone and press against her g-spot and rub at her clit frantically. Her climax hits hard; her entire body arches off the bed and her nails dig painfully into my scalp and her scream is stifled by the pressure of my mouth against hers.

Almost immediately she collapses back down onto the bed and both her arms and legs fall heavily onto the mattress. Her body is coated and a thin sheen of sweat and her chest is heaving as I slowly remove my slick fingers from inside of her and allow them to travel up her body; moving underneath her cami and leaving a trail of her own glistening juices as I go. Leaning down, I grab the bottom of her top and yank it up with my teeth, then use the tip of my tongue to trace the outline of her Breezy tattoo just below her right breast. I graduate to placing soft, hot kisses along her collarbone as one of my fingers, still bearing that sweet, honey like fluid, circles her left nipple, and renders her gasping, and writhing beneath me.

"Please…" she begs, and digs her nails into my shoulders. "Please Donnie…don't…"

"Don't what?" I ask, my lips travelling down over her breasts and down to her stomach once again. "Don't stop? Don't continue? Don't make you wait?"

"Just don't…" she pleads, her nails cutting into my skin as she attempts to yank me up her body.

I use the tip of my tongue to blaze a path from between her breasts to the hallow of her throat, where I suckle at the skin briefly before my tongue once again continues its ascent, travelling along the underside of her chin and then up to her mouth.

Our mouths devour each other once again; my fingers impatiently sneak between us and take hold of the waistband of her panties, prepared to yank them down just as her own hands find the top of my boxers to do the same. And just as I start to pull away in order to retrieve a condom from the box I'd purchased the night before and had stashed in the top drawer of the nightstand, there's a loud bang as the bedroom door flies open. Breezy gives a gasp and freezes beneath me, just as we both hear the soft padding of two tiny bare feet and four puppy paws come scampering into the room, along with the distinct clinking sound of Luna's tags.

I glance over my shoulder as I hear a thud and feel the mattress move underneath us; and Collin gives me a bright smile and shoves his thumb into his mouth as he plops down at the foot of the bed and his beloved puppy scampers up towards Breezy and I and proceeds to bathe my face in sloppy kisses.

I love my son; its astounding how much he already means to me in such a short period of time. But this is the second time in less than twelve hours that he's inadvertently and unknowingly prevented me from getting to know his mother again; in every sense of the word. And I'm only human when I allow myself sixty seconds to wish that I'd left him behind at my folks' last night when my mom had suggested that maybe Breezy and I needed to spend the first night in my place alone. And I can't help but kick myself in the ass for not seizing the opportunity for us to get properly _reacquainted_.

"Hi, daddy!" Collin chirps from around his thumb. "Hi, mum-mum!"

"Uh…hi…" I manage in my breathless and now slowly deflating state, feeling Breezy's hands as they fix my boxers.

"Are you guys gunna have a baby?" our son asks curiously. "Auntie Bee-Bee says that when mommies and daddies sleep together sometimes they gets to have babies."

Breezy gives a giggle.

"'Cause I wants a baby brudda or sistah," Collin adds. "And some puppies!"

I can't help but laugh at that, and I drop my head onto Breezy's shoulder and press a kiss to her tender skin before looking back over my shoulder at our son. "We'll see what we can do, okay?" I ask.

"O'tay…" Collin enthusiastically agrees. "I needs to go pee," he announces. "Buts I can't reach the big boy potty. And I'm thirsty too…and I wants to watch Thomas but I don't know how to turn your TV on daddy."

"Well how about you and Luna go and wait for me in the bathroom and I'll help you get on the big boy potty," I tell him. "Then I'll get you a drink and we can watch Thomas together. Sound good?"

He nods excitedly, then crawls across the bed on his hands and knees, flops down onto his tummy, swings his body around and then slides off of the mattress. "Hurry daddy!" he calls as he rushes out of the rooms, Luna hot on his heels. "I gots to go pee-pee real bad!"

"I'll be right there," I promise, then give a long, frustrated sigh as I listen to him scampering down the hall.

"Holy coitus interruptus, Batman," Breezy laughs hysterically as I roll off of her and onto my back. "Welcome to parenthood, Donald!" she lays her hand on my stomach and pats it playfully. "It's all fun and games, isn't it? Aren't you just the luckiest bastard in the whole wide world?"

I sigh once more, then push myself up into sitting position and rake my hands through my hair before looking down at her. "You know something?" I ask, and then lean down to kiss her softly. "I am the luckiest bastard in the whole wide world."

"And the corniest," she says, and lifts her head to kiss me back. "Make me a tea and some toast and honey?" she asks hopefully.

"Anything else your majesty?" I ask, as I slip out of bed and snag my t-shirt from the night before off of the floor and yank it on.

"As a matter of fact…" she replies, and props herself up on both elbows. "How about you always give me a hefty serving of domestic bliss and happily ever after, too. Think you can do that for me Detective Flack?"

Grinning, I lean over the bed and press my lips against her forehead.

"I'd move heaven and earth for you," I tell her, then peck her cheek before heading from the room.

* * *

"Daddy?" Collin pipes up as he stands alongside of me in the kitchen -perched on a stack of books so that he's chin level with the counter that I'm preparing him and his mother some toast at- his black hair mussed in nearly the exact same fashion as mine, his pale cheeks slightly flushed and one leg of his Happy Feet pyjamas pushed up past his knee and the other down at his ankle.

"What buddy?" I inquire, and breaking a chunk of banana off the one I'm eating, offer it to him.

"How comes the grass is gween and the sky is blue?" he asks, and accepts the treat.

"Well…" I'm trying to think fast on my feet here. I've been asked a lot things by a wide variety of people in my time. Everything from the mundane to the outrageous, to the ridiculous and just plain stupid. But I have never been asked that before. And I know that the wrong answer will instantly turn me from hero to chump in my son's eyes. "If the sky was green, we wouldn't know where to stop mowing," I finally say, and then hold my breath as I look over at my boy and wait for his reaction.

Those blue eyes become impossibly huge and his hand stops just inches from his mouth before he can pop the banana into it. "Really?" he asks, in complete and utter awe.

Shit, I feel like the smartest man on the planet right now. A regular goddamn Einstein.

"Really," I confirm.

"Whoa…" he breathes. "You are so smart, daddy! Way smarter than mum-mum!"

I try not to let that comment inflate my ego too much.

"When mommy and you get married, where are we going to live?" Collin asks. "Are we going to live with grandma and grandpa?"

I shake my head.

"With nanny and papa?" he tries again.

"We're going to get our own place," I tell him, as I used a butter knife to spread a layer of honey across my fiancée's toast. "We might have to live here for a little bit, but we'll end up moving to a bigger place. A better one."

"All of us?" he inquires. "Me and Luna too?"

"Of course," I reach out to tousle his hair. "Why wouldn't you and Luna come to live with us?"

"'Cause Phil told mommy that if they ever got married I'd have to live with grandma and grandpa for a bit," Collin says. "And mommy got really mad at him and you know what she said, daddy?"

"What did she say?" I ask, anger simmering inside of me at not only the mention of Phil's name, but that he would ever say something like that to Breezy in the first place. About her son. _Our_ son.

"Will I get in trouble for saying a bad word?" Collin inquires. "I don't want to tell you if I'm going to get in trouble."

"You can say a bad word," I say. "But just this once," I quickly stress.

"Mommy called him an fucking asshole and told him to drop dead!" Collin blurts out. "Mum-mum says bad word sometimes," he whispers. "Is she going to get in trouble 'cause I told on her?"

"It'll be our little secret," I promise. "Want to you want to drink?" I ask, as I move towards the fridge. "Milk, apple juice, orange juice…"

"Pop!" my son cries excitedly.

"Milk, apple juice or orange juice," I repeat. "Sorry bud, those are your options."

"Mum-mum lets me drink pop for breakfast," Collin informs me.

"Really? Maybe I should go in and ask her just to make sure that it's alright," I say.

His eyes widen and he shakes his head. "No!" he exclaims. "I was just foolin' daddy! No pop for breakfast. Can I have apple juice? Pweese?"

I nod, and snagging the plastic container out of the fridge, carry it over to the counter. "You know," I snag a plastic cup from the cupboard above the sink. "It's not nice to tell fibs," I inform my son, as I snap the lid off of the juice.

"I wants the gween cup!" he cries. "Can I have the gween cup, pweese and thank you?"

I replace the blue cup in my hand with the green one and fill it half way with apple juice. "Did you hear what I said?" I ask. "About telling fibs?"

Collin nods.

"What did I say?" I inquire.

"That it's not nice," he replies.

"Only bad boys tells fibs," I gently tell him. "And you're not a bad boy. And you don't want to be a bad boy either, do you?"

Collin shakes his head. "I won't tell no more fibs," he promises. "'Cause if I tell fibs and I'm a bad boy you'll go on vatation again."

"I'm not going anywhere ever again," I vow, and then curl my fingers around the top of his arm and help him down off of his improvised stool. "But if you tell fibs mommy and I will get mad. And you don't want us to get mad, do you?"

"No…but how comes big people can tell fibs and not get in trouble?"

"Fibs always catch up to you," I say, and hand my son his drink. "It may not happen for a long, long time, but in the end? In the end they always come back and get you in trouble. No one gets away with telling fibs forever."

"Even daddies and mommies?" Collin asks.

"Even daddies and mommies," I reply, and gathering up the two plates of toast in one hand and hooking my thumb and index fingers around the handle of my mug of coffee and Breezy's tea, carry them out into the living room.

Collin sets his cup of juice on the coffee table, and then reaches for something that catches his eye. "Who's dis, daddy?" he asks, and shows me the item in his hand.

I feel my heart clench and my lungs constrict when I realize he's holding a picture of Jess. Taken only a month before she was murdered during a day trip we'd taken to Coney Island. Clad in a pair of skinny jeans and a form fitting scarlet red t-shirt, she was leaning back against the railing of the pier, a brilliant smile plastered on her face and my Mets cap backwards on her head.

"Who's dis?" my son asks once again. "She's pretty daddy. Who is dat?"

I calmly set the belongings in my hand on the coffee table and gently snag the photo from him. "It's no one," I tell him, and stash the picture into one of the old magazines sitting on the table.

"Mommy's pretty too," Collin says, as he scrambles up onto the couch. "Like a pwincess."

"Your mommy's the most beautiful girl in the world," I tell him, thankful he hadn't pressed the subject of the mystery woman in the photograph.

"It's why I'm so cute!" my son declares with a giggle. "Five-three daddy," he says, as I use the remote to turn on the television. "That's where Thomas is."

"You are way too smart for your own good," I inform him, switching the channels to the proper one before tossing the remote aside and sinking down onto the couch beside him. Picking up one of the plates -the one with the crust cut off of the toast- I settle it in his lap. "You want to go out in a little while with me?" I ask, as I grab my coffee and take a sip.

"Just us?" Collin inquires. "Just boys?"

I nod.

"We go to McDonalds?" he asks hopefully.

"Maybe," I reply. "But first I want to go and buy your mommy something. You want to help me pick something out for her? A surprise? You want to help me buy her something really pretty?"

He nods enthusiastically.

"But it's our secret, okay? We can't let mommy know where we're going. It's a surprise and she can't know anything about it. Can you keep a secret?"

"I'm good at secrets," Collin declares. "Are we getting mum-mum flowers?"

"Sure, we can get her those, too. But this is an even bigger and better surprise than flowers."

Collin's eyes grow wide. "Chocolate?" he asks.

"Bigger and better than chocolate," I reply with a grin.

"Mum-mum loves chocolate," he informs me. "She loves Smarties."

"And I bet you love them too," I say, and swig coffee.

He nods in confirmation.

"What are you two whispering about?" Breezy asks, as she suddenly appears in the doorway, in one of my dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a pair of satin pyjama bottoms and her hair pulled back into a sloppy ponytail.

"It's a secret," Collin replies, then continues to munch happily on his toast.

"A boys only secret, huh?" she grins, as she crosses the room and perches herself on my knee. She wraps an arm around my shoulders and presses a kiss to my temple. "What are you two cooking up?"

"It's a secret," our son repeats, and rolls his eyes and sighs in exasperation.

Breezy and I laugh, and then I smile up at her and she combs her fingers through my hair as I curl an arm around her waist and place a kiss to her cheek.

It's amazing how only five minutes ago, a picture that had threatened to nearly break me, now lays almost forgotten in the midst of the mess on the coffee table.

How my family once again takes precedence over the lingering ache in my heart.

* * *

**Preview" Look for an appearance by Cliff Angell during some Flack/Collin time!**

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and just plain lurking!**

**Special thanks to:**

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	28. What Might Have Been

**DISCLAIMER: SAME AS THE CHAPTERS BEFORE**

* * *

**What Might Have Been**

"Sure I think about you now and then  
But it's been a long, long time  
I've got a good life now, I've moved on  
So when you cross my mind

I try not to think about  
What might have been  
'Cause that was then and we have taken different roads  
We can't go back again, there's no use giving in  
And there's no way to know  
What might have been."  
-What Might Have Been, Little Texas

* * *

_**Flack's POV**_

"I tolds mum-mum that you wouldn't make me go in da stroller," Collin busts out, as we stroll casually down Lexington hand in hand.

Or should I say with all five of his fingers wrapped tightly around one of mine. I'd laid down some ground rules the second we'd left the apartment; to either hold my hand or one of the legs of my shorts at all time. If he tried to take off, then I was going to scoop him up and carry him down the street like a little baby. So far, the threat has worked like a charm. He's been exceptionally good, kneeling on the seat next to me on the subway so he could peer out the window the entire way into midtown. I had told if he looked hard, he just might see the trolls that lived down there. Magical creatures that had homes in underground in the tunnels and only came out when they didn't think anyone was looking. And that if Collin waited long and patiently enough, he just might be get lucky and see one or two. A couple of times he'd let out an excited squeal and had bounced up and down on his knees and jammed his finger against the window while announcing to me, and to everyone else on the subway car, that he'd just seen a 'twill.'

Collin commands attention wherever he goes; whether he means to or not. It's more his personality than anything -although I may be just a little biased for thinking that my boy and his mother are the two most beautiful people on the face of the earth- Collin just seems to light up whatever room he scampers into. He makes people, even those having shitty, tough days, smile and laugh with his antics, their eyes sparkling as they gaze upon him and fall under the spell of his charm. He's ferociously intelligent -even I'm constantly stunned by his vocabulary and communication skills considering his age- and everyone he meets seems to forget that he's still very much a baby and they launch into conversations with him as if he's so much older. Until he says something so precocious and hilarious, or gives that belly laugh -the one where his eyes close and he tosses his head back and claps his hands together- and he suddenly goes from smart, articulate child seemingly mature beyond his years to every inch of a toddler.

Of course, it doesn't hurt that he's too adorable for words. He has his mother's petite, delicate build and her rosy cheeks and soft pink, heart shaped lips, but my pale skin; the perfect canvas for those brilliant blue eyes framed by dark, impossibly long lashes and that shock of black hair. The latter -thanks to a joint, walk in appointment at my usual barber at the shop across the street from my apartment- has been cut, along with my own, within and inch of a brush cut. Only the stylist had gone the extra mile with Collin and had created a small Mohawk down the middle of my son's head with some hair gel. I'm sure we make quite the sight; his tiny body skipping down the sidewalk alongside of my towering, strong frame. We're clad in similar fashion: a plain white t-shirt, olive green cargo shorts and a pair of Adidas flip-flops for myself, and khaki shorts, a red t-shirt and a pair of Go Diego Go sandals for Collin. Along with the two shopping bags clasped in my right hand -purchases we've made before even getting to our desired destination- , I have his small backpack over my left shoulder and we both wear sunglasses; his a pair of royal blue and yellow Sponge Bob Square Pants ones I'd picked up at the bodega next to the subway station. A little something I couldn't resist after he'd made the comment that he wanted to be 'cool just like you, daddy' after I'd put my own shades on.

"You know that you have to do whatever your mommy says, right?" I ask. "She just wants you in the stroller to keep you safe and out of trouble. You have to listen to her, okay? No giving her a hard time."

"Mum-mum says that boys are nuttin' but trouble," Collin informs me.

"Well, your mommy's had a lot of boy trouble in her life," I say. "So let's not give her anymore, okay?"

"O'tay…" he heartily agrees. "Daddy! Look!" he suddenly shrieks, and then yanks aggressively on my fingers as he attempts to drag me across the sidewalk. Just this once, I allow him to release his hold on me and then follow behind as he bolts in the direction of the store that has caught his eye. And I give apologetic smiles to the fellow pedestrians that my son either nearly bowls over or trips up. "Lookit!" he cries, his nose and palms flat against the store's picture window. "Daddy! Lookit! It's mommy!"

Frowning, I glance up at the forest green awning above the front door that bears the words 'Klein's Antiques and Collectibles' in large white letters. A year and a half ago, this exact store had specialized in fixing clocks and watches. A dying art in this day and age. And business had been decent until jewellery appraiser Xander Green murder had opened up a whole shit load of horrific lies and painful, disgusting images that my mind still has difficulty trying to shake. Klaus Braun had been one of the most vile person I have ever come in contact with; the hate inside that man is astounding. I have always been incredibly sensitive when it comes to the Holocaust; as a teen, I'd had nightmares for a week after Breezy and I had done research for a school project we'd partnered up for. Some of the stories we'd read and the pictures we'd looked at had made me physically sick to my stomach, and I'll never forget the bile that crept up into my throat when Mac and I surveyed the contents of Green's secret room. Or the shiver that had passed through me while watching Braun's interrogation, specifically when he'd defiantly and ignorantly declared in German, "We should have killed them all".

The guy I'd really felt sorry for was David Klein. I couldn't even begin to image the heartache he'd suffered when he'd discovered the truth about his old man. He'd spent his entire life idolizing his dad; believing he was a living and breathing miracle because he'd managed to escape the horrors of the death camps. Only to find out, after he'd been raised as a practicing Jew, that his father was nothing but a phoney. A piece of shit who'd helped perpetrate crimes against humanity and who'd done the ultimate act of disrespect to the memories of all those who'd died by pretending to be what he'd hated the most because he was a coward that couldn't man up to his atrocities.

"What'cha looking at there, buddy?" I ask, forcing the memories of Klaus Braun and the Xander Green case out of my mind as I scoop my son up into my arms. I can only be thankful that he's too young, pure and innocent to know about all the hate and evil that still exists in this world.

"See!" he points down. "It's mommy!"

I glance at what he's looking at; there amongst the neatly displayed Hummel figurines, Royal Albert china and Waterford crystal, are half a dozen retro tin lunchboxes. Including one of Strawberry Shortcake that is just too impossible to resist.

"That's mommy!" Collin insists. "That's what grampie calls her! And she's got a blanket that looks like that too!"

"Mommy's had that blanket since she was a little girl," I tell him. "It's one of her favourite things in the whole wide world. You wanna go inside? Ask how much the lunchbox costs? Maybe we can buy it for her?"

He nods excitedly.

"I'm going to carry you though," I say, and he curls his arms around my neck as we head for the entrance. "Because I don't want you touching anything and breaking it in there and getting us both in trouble."

"I don't wants to be a bad boy!" he exclaims, as I grab a hold of the handle on the door and yank it open. "I don't wants to go to lockup! I goes there and no kisses and stories from mommy!"

"Exactly," I give a nod in agreement. "And trust me buddy, daddy's gone long enough without any kisses and stories from your mommy. He's had enough of that crap."

"Poop!" Collin corrects. "It's poop, daddy! Mommy says poop is a better word!"

As we enter the shop, the top corner of the door collides with a wind chime suspended from above and a delicate tinkle announces our arrival. There are no other customers in the store; speakers in the ceiling plays soft chamber music and the rustling of cardboard and clothing emits from behind a curtain at the rear of the establishment.

"Just one moment, please!" a voice implores.

"Take your time!" I call in return, and with Collin securely in my possession, browse the store; eyes taking in the various wears that are neatly arranged on display tables and enclosed behind locked showcases. The place has a little bit of everything; a couple of Queen Victoria arm chairs and a make up vanity pushed up against the far wall, old fashioned wooden toys still in their original boxes, crystal and china figurines and dishes, sterling silver tea sets and silverware, and jewellery. A massive bookcase filled to bursting lines the wall behind the old-fashioned cash register, and a fat, content white Persian cat is fast asleep on the counter.

Collin and I both sneeze noisily.

"It's my 'lergies!" my son declares, and wipes his runny nose on my shoulder. "Cats, daddy. 'lergic to cats!"

"Tell me about it buddy," I sniffle noisily, and keeping one arm around Collin, use my free hand to remove my shades. I dangle them from the neck of my t-shirt, then pull off my son's sunglasses and fold them and put them in my pocket. "This is exactly why we'll never have a cat. Daddy's 'lergic too."

"Lily!" David Klein scolds the feline as he slips out from behind the curtain. "How many times do I have to tell you not to go up there? The customers do not want your hair flying in their faces! Come, girl…" he gently picks the cat up, who gives a meow in protest, and bends down to drop her behind the curtain. "You go and find another place to sleep!" he orders. "You do not own this place!"

"It's why I don't like cats," I say with a laugh. "Too stuck up. Think they rule the world."

"Oh believe me, she thinks she is the Queen Bee," David chuckles, as he stands up and wipes his hands on the thighs of his brown cords. "Detective Flack!" a genuine smile of both surprise and happiness covers his face. "So good to see you again! It's been a long time!"

"It has," I agree, and crossing the store, offer my hand over the counter that separates us. I hadn't spent a lot of time talking to David that day his father had been taken into custody; I'd agreed to sit with Mac while he broke the news about Abraham Klein's real name and his sordid history. And it had taken all of my will power to emotionally shut myself off and not break down when David sobbed like a baby in front of us.

"How you been holding up?" I ask, as we warmly shake hands.

"Things have been…difficult…" he admits. "As you can see, I changed the store. I didn't want to keep the business the same as it was when my fa…_he_…owned it. Instead, I got a loan from the bank and decided to mix things up a bit. Do something different with my life. The change has been…refreshing."

I nod in understanding. "You didn't use the money that was made off the broach? Why didn't you…"

"That money was not mine to keep," he explains. "That broach had never belonged to my family and taking any earnings off of it would have been like taking blood money. I didn't want any part of his hate. I didn't want to get rich off of something so horrible. I've washed my hands of Abraham Klein. Klaus Braun. Whatever he calls himself. He's called a few times, wanting to see me. But…" David shrugs. "He is not my father. My father is dead to me. That man…that man that is going to atone for his sins is a stranger to me."

"You're a hell of a lot stronger than I am. 'Cause I probably would have…"

"H-E- double hockey sticks, daddy!" Collin cries. "The other one is a bad word, 'member?"

David chuckles, and a smile replaces the haunted look that had covered his face as he spoke of his father. "And who would this be?" he asks, and pats the top of the counter with the palm of his hand, an invitation to put Collin down. "Your son?"

"My son," I confirm, and set the toddler on the glass.

"He looks just like you!" David gushes. "Hello there…" he offers a hand to the little boy.

"Hi!" Collin chirps, and curls his fingers around the hand in front of him and shakes politely. "I'm Collin! I'm almost tree!"

"Well hello Collin who's almost three. I have a little boy the exact same age. His name is Benjamin."

"Same age as me?" my son asks. "Maybe we can play?"

"Well he's not here right now," David replies. "But I'm sure your dad could bring you back one day when Benjamin _is_ here and the two of you could meet. I'm sure you would make great friends."

Collin nods excitedly, and then cocks his head to the side; eyes narrowing in curiosity. "Why you gots a little hat on your head?" he asks. "Grammie says good boys don't wear hats inside."

"Collin!" I scold. "Don't…"

"It's quite alright," David gives me a reassuring, understanding smile. "Children asks questions. It's what makes life with them so beautiful and interesting. This…" he addresses Collin as he lays a hand on the back of his head. "…is a yarmulke. It's a special hat that Jewish men and boys wear. I'm Orthodox; I wear mine all the time. Not just on holidays and special occasions. Do you know what Jewish is?"

Collin's eyes are wide in interest as he shakes his head.

"It's a religion," his new friend explains. "Do you have a religion?"

My son looks to me for the answer.

"Catholic," I say. "Roman."

"Well just like you and your daddy are Roman Catholic and believe in certain things, I'm Jewish and I believe in certain things. And my yarmulke lets everyone know what I practice and how proud I am of it. Just like you should always be proud of who you are. It's such a wonderful thing about little ones," David addresses me now. "So young and innocent. Nothing has tarnished their minds or their souls. We can teach them about loving yourself and others. Regardless of race or religion. No sin has entered them; tolerance and acceptance can never be taught to early. He's a very curious boy. That's good. You must be very proud of him."

"I am," I say with a smile, then drop a kiss on the top of my son's head.

"My daddy's a peas-man," Collin informs the other man. "A special kind. A defective."

David chuckles at that. "Well I happen to know for a fact that your daddy is a wonderful detective. Now what brought you two into my store today?"

"Strawberry Shortcake!" my son cries, and points towards the front window. "That's mommy!"

"My…" I don't want to say fiancée or girlfriend. Both terms don't do justice to Breezy or what she means to me and the huge role she plays in my life. "My wife is a red head," I explain. "Her dad's nickname for her when she was growing up was Strawberry Shortcake. We saw the lunchbox in the window and it would be perfect for her."

"I've got one still in it's box!" David exclaims. "The one in the window is one sale for forty dollars but it's scratched and dented! The one I have out back is in perfect condition. I can give it to you for the same price!"

"You don't have to," I say, as he hurries towards the curtain.

"Consider it a thank you," David tells me, then disappears into the back room.

"He's nice daddy!" Collin exclaims, loud enough for the shopkeeper to hear. "You gots lots of nice friends!"

I nod in agreement and my eyes scan the items locked in the display case that Collin is perched on. My initial plan had been to go to the same jewellery store that I'd purchased Breezy's engagement ring at years ago and see if they had some earrings or even a necklace in rose gold that would match. However, David himself as a lot of treasures in that little store of his. Including a pair of what I assume is diamond and garnet drop earrings that are nestled against navy blue velvet on the top shelf. There's one blood red stone at the top, followed by five small diamonds and then another garnet. The small tag bearing a steep price of $650 gives me a little anxiety. But the fact that I've found something with both mine and Breezy's birthstone in them is a sign that I'd been fated to meet up with David Klein today.

"Here we go," David emerges from stockroom with a cardboard box in his hands. "It was the last one, too. They're very popular."

"I'll take those too," I tap the glass with the tip of my index finger. "The garnet and diamond earrings."

David fishes a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocking the case, removes the box cradling the items in question. "Forty percent off today," he announces, and sets them on the counter.

"I don't see any signs about there being a sale," I say, as I set Collin on the ground and pull my wallet out from my back pocket.

"I can make sales up as I go along," David grins. "I am the owner after all."

"Daddy!" my son gives a gasp, and I glance down to see him peering into the case. "Look!"

I crouch down and take a peek at what he's looking at. A white bone china figurine of a mother cradling a baby.

"Me and mommy!" he cries, then springs up onto his feet and grabbing a hold of the countertop, perches himself on his tiptoes. "'Tuse me, David! How much dat is?"

"It depends," he says with a grin. "How much money do you have?"

"Ummm…I dunno…" Collin tugs on my the leg of my shorts as I stand up. "Daddy!" he whispers. "How much money does I have?"

"You want to buy that for mommy?" I ask, unable to keep the amused, and proud, grin off my face.

He nods. "How much, daddy? How much I gots?"

"You have enough," I tell him, and he gives an excited squeal and drops to his knees once again, watching David's every move as he unlocks the case and takes out the figurine.

"Somebody obviously loves his mommy very, very, very much," David says with a grin, as he sets Collin's gift to his mother on the counter and wraps it in tissue paper he procures from under the cash register.

"That makes two of us," I declare.

"Mum-mum and daddy are getting married!" Collin announces. "And then we all gets to live 'gether in a house and we gets to have a puppy named Sprinkles and I gets to have a baby brudda or sistah. 'Cause when mommies and daddies sleep in da same bed they has babies! And mum-mum and daddy sleep last night in da same bed so now she has a baby real soon!"

"You've got a real uncanny ability of embarrassing your old man, kid," I sigh, and scoop him back up into my arms.

"Children only speak the truth," David says, as he rings up our purchases and packs them into a plastic shopping back. "Their tongues and hearts know nothing else."

"Too bad the rest of the world can't be like that," I comment, then remove my credit card from my wallet and lay it on the counter top. "If the rest of the world was like that, it would make my job a whole lot easier."

"It would make merely existing easier," the shop keep declares, then turns to run my card through a small computer behind him. "When things happened with my fath...with him…I lost myself for quite some time," he says, as he sets the card, a pen and the sales slip on the counter in front of me. "I didn't even know who I was anymore. And then one day I realized that I couldn't let what he'd done ruin me. I couldn't let his lies and his hate determine who I am as a human being. I am still a Jew. I am still David Klein. Two things I will always be proud of. And I couldn't let him disrespect me and the memory of my mother and the memories of what had happened during the war."

"You're a bigger man than me," I declare, and scrawl my signature on the piece of paper in front of me.

"We do not know our own strength until it is tested," David says, as I put the credit card back into my wallet and return it to my back pocket. "Now…I have got something for Collin who is almost three. If that's okay with his father, of course."

"Of course," I respond.

"Something very special," David says, and from underneath the counter, removes a tin box and pulls off the lid. "These are called Rugelach," he explains, and shows us the cookies inside. "They are mine and my son's favourite. My wife made them; little twists there are sometimes referred to as. Dough rolled around fillings like raisins and preserves. These ones happen to be chocolate. And if you'd like to have some…"

"Can I daddy?" Collin's eyes widen. "Pweese?"

I nod.

"You can have this one for now," David plucks a cookie out of the container and hands it to my son. "And I will give you some more to take home to your lovely mommy. Would you like that?"

Collin's head bobs up and down.

"What do you say?" I ask him.

"Pweese and tanks," my son says, as David removes a handful of treats from the box, wraps them in a some tissue and lays them in the shopping bag.

"It was very nice to see you again, Detective Flack," he offers me a hand. "And a pleasure doing business with you."

"Likewise," I say, and shake his hand warmly. "I'm glad things are going well for you."

"One day at a time," he gives a sigh. "That's the most anyone can ask for. And the offer is open. About our children playing together."

I snag one of the business cards off of a small brass holder on top of the register. "I'll call you," I tell him, and slip the card into my pocket and gather up the bags at my feet and the one that sits on the counter. "I'd like it if our kids could hang out; be buddies. Ready, squirt?" I ask my son, and hoist him further up onto my hip. "We'll go and grab some McDonalds and head home to mommy?"

Collin nods and circles my neck with his right arm while he munches on the cookie in his left hand. "Bye, David!" he cries, as we head for the door. "Tanks for the yummies!"

I'm chuckling, and beaming with pride, as we step out of the shop and onto the busy sidewalk. "You just love everyone don't you," I comment.

Collin nods.

"Trust me buddy," I press a kiss to his cheek. "We should all love everyone. This world would be a much better place."

"No more bad guys!" he declares.

"Now that is what I call the perfect world," I muse.

"But I loves mum-mum da mostest!" he exclaims.

"Even more than me?" I ask, and tickle his side. "You love her more than me?"

"I loves you too, daddy…" he plants a sloppy, chocolaty kiss on my lips. "But mum-mum is special."

I smile.

If that isn't the biggest understatement I've _ever_ heard.

* * *

Collin's out like light by the time I ascend the stairs that takes us from our subway stop to the street. I've always considered myself a pretty strong guy; I'm not afraid or shy about taking down perps that are bigger and tougher than I am. But I seriously do no understand how a two and a half year old that's tiny for his age can feel as if he weighs a ton. And as I slowly make my towards daylight, I'm silently cursing myself for not bringing the stroller along after all as my aching back screams at me for being such a tool. It's a struggle just carting his dead weight, let alone all of the bags and the knapsack I've got in my possession as well. And I know if I even dare to bitch and moan when I walk through the door, Breezy will give me a less than sympathetic smile and a kiss on the cheek and say the four most dreaded words in the English language.

"I told you so."

There's two blocks that stand between me and finally being able to put Collin down and put my feet up. It's normally a ten minute walk from the station to the front door of my building; today it seems as if it's two hours. And as I round the corner that leads to the homestretch, forcing my feet to just keep going, I'm stopped dead in my tracks when I hear a familiar voice from behind call my name. I haven't heard that voice in a little over a year; since I'd been offered the invitation to celebrate Jess' birthday shortly after she died. I'd never taken up the offer; instead I'd sat behind the wheel of my squad across the street from the Angell home, watching through the living room window as her family laughed and shared memories and toasted their deceased loved one. I had desperately wanted to be part of that; to feel as if I had been an important part of her life. But my grief and guilt had been so overwhelming, so powerful, that I hadn't wanted to drag any of them down when it seemed as if they were having an easier time coping than I was.

Now, more than three hundred and sixty five days later, I plaster a smile on my face and turn to greet the man who I'd honestly once believed would one day be my father in law.

"Long time no see Cliff," I say. "I'd offer you a hand but…"

"Looks like you need a few more hands," he chuckles. "Quit the load you're hauling there. How you doin' Don?" he asks, and clasps me on the shoulder.

"Good," I reply. "How you holding up? What brings you to this part of town?"

"Just running some errands," Cliff says. "Guess I'm not doing too bad. My knees and my back aren't what they used to be, but that's the damn thing about getting old. Age is more than just a pain in the ass, I can tell you that much. Looks like you've been doing a lot of running around."

"Too much," I admit, and hoist Collin further up into my arms. He gives a murmur and a sigh and tightens the grip his arms have around my neck.

"Who's this cutie?" Cliff asks, as he steps to my side. "You doin' some babysitting? This your brother Chris' little guy? I know that Sammie doesn't have any kids."

"Actually…" I take a deep breath and release it slowly. Dreading the reaction my words are going to get. "This is my son. Collin."

Cliff's eyes widen slightly and he gives a startled, sharp intake of breath. "Your son?" he inquires. "You mean as in you got a girlfriend that has a kid and you're the step daddy or…"

"As in my son," I explain. "Biologically."

He nods slowly; his brain allowing the news to sink in. "How old is he? Did Jess know?" he blurts out.

"He'll be three in October," I say. "And no. She didn't. I didn't even know until two days ago. I mean, I always suspected that maybe he was mine when his mother was pregnant but I never…" I sigh heavily, realizing how messed up the entire situation is as I hear it with my own ears. "I was told at the time that the baby was someone else's," I attempt to explain. The last thing I want to do is disrespect Breezy but downplaying the situation or making it sound as if she was a bad person for making the decisions she had.

"Who's the mother?" Cliff inquires. "Someone random or…"

"You remember Dean Truby?" I ask.

"Sonofabitch that stole the drugs from that raid you were in charge of and killed some innocent kid," Cliff replies, disgust dripping from his voice. "Disgrace to the badge. What about him? I remember reading something about how you and his wife had some thing going on or something like that."

"His ex wife is Collin's mother," I explain. "I dated her in high school and we met up again after she was married to Dean and things just…things just happened between us. She had told me that the baby was Dean's when I found out I was pregnant. Couple days ago, I found out he wasn't."

"So what? You got visitation?"

"We're back together. Collin's mom and I. We're getting married. In a couple of months."

Cliff's eyebrows shoot up. "You shitting me?" he asks.

I shake my head. "I know that it probably sees really sudden, like I'm rushing into things but I…I never realized how much I missed or that I still loved her until I saw her again. She always had this huge piece of my heart and I didn't really realize how big it was until I showed up at her place to talk to her. And then I found out I had a son and everything just…it just took off from there. I never expected to…"

"You don't owe me an explanation, Don," Cliff reaches out and lays a hand on my shoulder. "Don't feel like you have to justify being happy. I can't begrudge you that. I know how much my daughter meant to you. And how much you meant to her and how much you made her happy. Don't feel like you're doing anything wrong by going on with your life. You deserve to be happy, son. Have a wife, a family. I want that for you. And so does Jess."

I sigh heavily and give a nod.

"There's no telling what would have happened if she hadn't have died," he continues, the remnants of grief clouding his eyes. "But I can tell you one thing for sure. If this little boy had have entered your life and the two of you were together? If you had have found your son while you were with my daughter? Well Jess would have welcomed him with open arms. She would have loved him like he was her own."

"I know," my voice cracks with emotion. "Jess was like that. She had a huge heart."

"She wouldn't have judged you, that little boy, or his mother," Cliff says. "She would have accepted him as part of your life. 'Cause he's a part of you, Don. How could she not have loved him?" he runs a hand over Collin's hair. "He's a beautiful boy. Bet he's got some pretty blue eyes. That he looks just like his old man."

"That's what everyone says," I clear my throat noisily.

"I always used to wonder if…" Cliff sighs and strokes Collin's hair. "I always used to wonder if you and Jess would have kids. I used to think about what they'd look like, what you'd call them, if they'd…well if they'd be as beautiful as their mother."

"I'm sure they would have," I say.

"That's the only thing that makes me sad about this," he tells me. "When I look at your boy…well when I look at him I can't help but think about what you and Jess might have had."

"I think about that sometimes when I look at him too," I admit.

"But enough about that," Cliff attempts to brighten his voice and the mood. "Congrats on the boy. And about getting married. I'd love to meet the future Mrs. Flack. I'm sure she's a looker."

I smile and nod. "She's…she's an angel," I say.

"The three of you should come over next Sunday for dinner," he suggests. "Any girl that manages to bring a smile back to your face is a welcome part of my family."

"I'll have to talk to her about it," I tell him. "I don't want her feeling uncomfortable."

"We don't bite," Cliff chuckles. "But yeah…I can see why you'd want to discuss it. I've got your cell number still. I'll call you in a couple days? Or stop by the precinct and grab your answer?"

"Sounds good," I say.

"It was good to see you again," he pats my shoulder once more. "You take care of yourself. And your boy. He's precious. Make sure you enjoy every second with him. They grow up quick; before you know it he'll be wanting to be a cop like his old man. Just take time to stop and the roses, Don. Make each moment count. Understood?"

"Loud and clear," I smile, and give a nod in farewell before Cliff turns on his heel and journeys towards his car parked at the curb several feet away. "I did love her!" I call before I can stop myself. "In case part of you is doubtin' that!"

"Never a doubt in my mind," he says. "Don't you ever doubt it either. There's nothing to feel bad about, Don. Don't feel like you have to justify it to anyone that you've moved on. Especially to yourself. Life's too short. You've got a future ahead of you. And no one is begrudging you that."

I nod slowly, then wait until he's behind the wheel of his car before turning my back on him and continuing on the way to my apartment.

More anxious and eager then ever to return to my future.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and just plain lurking! I appreciate all of the support!! You guys have no idea how much it means to me that so many of you love this story! I can't thank you all enough!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Afrozenheart412**

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**Wolfeylady**

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**xSamiliciousx**

**Nienna Tinehtele**

**Forest Angel**

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**Soccer-bitch**

**JonasBROgirl8816**

**You Can't Rush Science**

**New-york-babeee**

**xMusicxAndxLife**


	29. Bad Things

**DISCLAIMER: SAME AS ALWAYS, I OWN SHIT ASS NOTHIN'**

**USE OF ITALICS DENOTES A FLASHBACK. THERE'S GOING TO BE A COUPLE IN A ROW, SO PLEASE BEAR WITH ME FOLKS!**

* * *

**Bad Things**

"I wanna do bad things with you.

When you came in the air went out.  
And every shadow filled up with doubt.  
I don't know who you think you are,  
But before the night is through,  
I wanna do bad things with you.

I'm the kind to sit up in his room.  
Heart sick an' eyes filled up with blue.  
I don't know what you've done to me,  
But I know this much is true:  
I wanna do bad things with you.

When you came in the air went out.  
And all those shadows there filled up with doubt.  
I don't know who you think you are,  
But before the night is through,  
I wanna do bad things with you.  
I wanna do real bad things with you.

I don't know what you've done to me,  
But I know this much is true:  
I wanna do bad things with you.  
I wanna do real bad things with you."  
-Bad Things, Jace Everett

* * *

_**Flack's POV**_

_How in the hell did I ever wind up here?_

_Parked on a bar stool in the middle of a dump named Billy Bat's in Yonkers; sipping my third bottle of Bud and trying to distract myself from the nervousness and worry that plagues me by watching the Yankees and the Toronto Blue Jays go at it on the small coloured television mounted in the right corner above the bar. I can't even remember the last time that a case had seen me in this neck of the woods; two miles north of Manhattan and bordering on the edge of the Bronx. I seem to have a knack of catching the gruesome shit in the other boroughs; Brooklyn and it's rat, cockroach and crack infested area of Washington Heights being on the top of my list of most visited places. Yet here I am, on my one night off this week, ignoring the drunk, college aged douche bags behind me; slurred profanities spew from their mouths as they call each other every name in the goddamn book and practically put the cues clear through the green felt on the warped pool tables._

_As I sip my beer and help myself to stale pretzels from the small plastic basket in front of me, the young bartender; all greasy mullet and sweat stained red and blue plaid shirt over a Metallic tee, leans back against his glass shelves of half empty bottles of liquor and eyes me warily as he shuffles a deck of cards over and over again. Maybe something about me just screams cop; I might even smell it when people get too close for all I know. What I do know is that I'm not there to cause any trouble and I certainly couldn't give a shit less if people are in the dimly lit johns snorting coke off the sink ledges or if they're smoking up in the back alley. As long as they don't come near me asking if I want to buy the stuff and some liquored up tool doesn't try and cause shit with me for the sake of trying to look like a big man in front of his buddies, I'm not here to go all 'strong arm of the law' on anyone. Both my badge and my service weapon are locked in the compartment between the driver's and passenger's seat in my SUV and I'm out of my usual element of a suit and tie and clad instead in a pair of worn out, baggy jeans, a pair of sneakers and a black and red Reebok hoodie over a simple white t-shirt and a backwards Mets cap._

_Maybe it's the hat that the barkeep is staring at. Yonkers is notorious for breeding Yankees fans; Billy Bats had once been home to an autographed Mickey Mantle bag until that Tanglewood punk Sonny Sassone decided it was a good idea to not only steal if off the wall, but to convince poor wanna-be Paul Montenassi that he'd make it into the gang if he cracked the bat off the head of some kid from the rival Pelham Bay crew. Mac and Stella had later found shards of the bat in Montenassi's head; Sassone had been as guilty as fuck for beating the kid to death and how he ever beat that murder rap is still beyond all comprehension. I'd never known that Billy Bats even existed until the name had come up during that case; for some reason I'd retained and had kept it stored in my brain for the last two and a half years. When I'd called Breezy three days before and had asked her to meet me somewhere so we could talk, I'd pulled Billy Bats clear out of my ass. At first she'd resisted the idea; more because I think she's terrified to be alone with me than she is to actually come all the way out to Yonkers. This is a girl may look all sweet and innocent, but can kick your ass if you dare try to mess with her. Not to mention she teaches in Crown Heights and deals with troubled, dirt poor kids on a daily basis. Shit disturbers are too nice to describe half of them; there's been documented cases of eight year olds going to class with knives in their back packs or nine millimetres tucked into the waist band of their jeans. Never mind the perverted shit that goes down in bathrooms and on school buses this day or the amount of drugs that are peddled on the playground._

_Breezy's a tough little shit; I'm the one person that manages to unnerve her without even trying. She'd finally agreed to meet me after several minutes of forceful coaxing. Dean was in Atlantic City for four days with a couple of the other younger detectives and she knew that it was probably the only chance we'd get to meet face to face without having to worry about him being suspicious about where she was going or why he couldn't get a hold of her. I get the impression by the way he struts around the stationhouse, bragging about how often his 'bitch' puts out and how her…intimate areas…belong to him that he's not only a complete and utter douche bag, but that he's a possessive, jealous freak. There's been moments where I've had to leave the room to prevent myself from killing the sonofabitch, and I've admittedly taken perverse pleasure in assigning him all the shit jobs as a form of revenge and punishment; I always use the excuse that he is the new guy after all, and all the newbies have to start off at the bottom of the barrel. He may be a hell of a cop, but he's a shit ass human being and a pathetic excuse for a man, and there's something about him that tells me that home life isn't that great, that maybe he's running that marriage with a heavy hand and that Breezy isn't as free to come and go as he lets on that she is._

_I can't stand the thought of her with him. It makes me physically sick to my stomach when I even think about them being intimate; of Dean's hands even coming in the most remote of contact with her body. And maybe it makes me sound a little possessive, but I can't see her as anything else but my Breezy. I can't stop thinking about what things had been like when we were teenagers. About what her silky skin had felt like under inquisitive and slightly greedy finger tips and an equally as curious mouth. I've never forgotten how she smelled or what she tasted like, or how it had felt to have her legs wrapped around my waist, her ankles locked at the small of my back. Or how it had stung but had felt so damn good at the same time when she yanked at my hair or bit the side of my neck or raked her nails along my back and shoulders; hard enough to draw blood. She had been my first, and while I've been with my fair share of women since that last time with Breezy when we were eighteen, no one has ever been able to come close to replicating what sex had felt like with her._

_All of my memories aren't about sex, but as teenagers it had been a big part of our lives. We'd learned things together, explored one another each chance that we got. But I do have other emotionally intimate moments tucked away in the fault. Times when we'd spread a blanket across a path of grass in my back yard and we lie down on our backs and stare up at the clouds during the day and the glistening stars at night. When we'd talk about where we were going with our lives and where we'd already been. We'd discuss our plans for the future -not once had they ever not involved the two of us- and had even planned how many kids we were going to have and what their names would be. Patrick for a boy -Pat Flack, she'd grumbled and rolled her eyes before finally giving in- and Shae-Lynne for a girl. I can't even remember how we'd ever come up with that one; I think it was because I liked the Shae part and Breezy's grandmother in Colorado was named Lynette. And then we'd allow ourselves some fantastical ideas about how I was going to play in the NHL -for the Rangers, of course- and I was going to be raking in the millions and she was going to stay home to take care of a brood of kids and write romance novels in her spare time._

_I grin about that even now; it's amazing what can still touch you even when your thirty. Every time I think about those moments when we were younger I can't help but smile. Things had been so simple then. So innocent even. All that had mattered to us was that we were together and we'd been adamant that no matter what tossed at us or how many bumps and forks in the road there were, we'd somehow manage to reach the end completely intact as a couple. Maybe it had been puppy love as our parents' always mused about; to Breezy and I it had been the real deal. We had known how we felt about one another and no one was going to tell us that it we weren't experiencing it and that it was wrong to feel the way we were. As far as Breezy and I were concerned, we were going to be together forever. I can't even count the number of times we'd actually discussed forging our parents' names on a form of consent, applying for an out of state marriage licence, buying the cheapest pair of wedding bands we could find and just running off to take the plunge. We'd never gone through with it of course; she always chickened out when she thought about how furious her father would be with her._

_I can't help but wish we'd just gone ahead and got hitched when we were seventeen. That we'd just thrown caution to the wind and ignored every one around us and just did what we had so badly wanted. I would have been all for her continuing her education. I would have accepted nothing less from her; Breezy's always been insanely intelligent and I would never have stood for her disrespecting herself by not continuing on with school and making something great of herself. I still would have joined the academy and become a cop; it would have been the easier way to make some quick cash to take care of her and pay the bills while she went to school. Life would have been a struggle and things would have been tight, but at least we would have been together. And had we gone ahead and done it when we were seventeen like we'd initially discussed, we would have already had thirteen years under our belts. Maybe even a handful of kids._

_And I wouldn't be tolerating Dean Truby's shit, or sitting in a seedy bar in Yonkers. The only reason I'd even suggested coming here was because it was the last place we could get busted together. There's just too many cop bars in midtown and lower Manhattan and anywhere in Queens we ran the risk of not only someone knowing my old man or another relative, but the news of us being spotted together being spread over God's creation._

_Taking a swig of my beer, I set it on the top of the bar and using the tip of my left index finger, push the cuff of my right sleeve up just far enough to get a peek at my watch. It's quarter after; I'd told Breezy eight o'clock. There's a small part of me that's worried that something has happened to her, and even bigger part that is worried that she's decided that meeting me is not worth risking her marriage. That maybe I completely misread those signals she'd been setting off during my therapy session a week ago. That I'd read way too much into a kiss that she'd obviously laid on me during a vulnerable moment. She'd been emotional about seeing me in the physical condition that I was, she'd been torturing herself by thinking about how I could have died that day, and she'd only added to her pain by giving me that cross that hasn't let my neck since she'd given it to me. Maybe I'd been fooling myself by thinking she'd come to see me that day because she was still in love with me and that she was testing the waters; seeing where she stood with me and where we stood, romantically speaking. Maybe deep down, what I'd thought had been love and tenderness in her eyes when she looked at me was in fact nothing more than sympathy._

_

* * *

_

_"Looks like you've been stood up," the barkeep pipes up, and my eyes narrow and I fix him with a cold glare as I down the remains of my beer and then practically slam the empty bottle down on top of the bar._

_"How about you keep the comments to yourself and get me another beer," I snarl. "And don't even think about waiting to hear me say please."_

_A smirk tugs at the right corner of his mouth as he sets the deck of cards on the shelf behind him and wanders towards the fridge at the far end of the bar. "Think you're a tough guy or something Queens?" he asks, as he snags a bottle of Bud and an opener from the top of the cash register and pops the cap off and allows it to topple to the floor with a clatter._

_"What I think…" I glance around the bar, my eyes taking in the frat boys hogging the pool tables and the weathered and weary group of Sandhogs near the front window and the two truckers in their Mack ball caps and their dirty jeans and plaid hunting jackets, before looking back at the bar tender. "…is that I'm your best costumer tonight and that if you want to keep making money off of me, you should keep your trap shut and the beers coming."_

_"Nicely put," he mutters, and as he sets my beer down in front of me, I lift my ass off the stool a couple of inches and pulling a wrinkled and faded ten and a five from out of one of my jeans pockets, toss it on the bar._

_"That's for my first two," I say. "Keep the change and start a tab, will ya?"_

_"Whatever my best costumer wants," he retorts, and scoops up the money and heads for the register._

_Picking up the cold bottle of brew in front of me, I take a huge sip; swallowing just as I hear the bells above the front entrance jingle noisily, announcing a customer's arrival. Immediately I hear several whistles erupt from the other men in the bar, along with a few perverted comments and the rapid click of heels on the warped, wooden floor. I find it ironic that just as a woman enters the bar, the song T-R-O-U-B-L-E by Travis Tritt has just started blaring through the jukebox at the back of the joint._

_"You're a long way from home honey," one of the Sandhogs quips, and licks his lips suggestively as his buddies chuckle and one nudges him encouragingly with his elbow._

_"Yeah?" Breezy's voice brings a smile to my face, and slight fear that that feisty little Flushing, Queens girl is going to say something that will result in me having to come to her aid and having a pool cue or a chair busted over my head for my effort. "And so is your mother. Just saw her three blocks away working a car on the corner of Vine and Prospect. Isn't Lex and 115th more her speed?"_

_Every patron in the place goes silent and I nearly spit beer clear across the bar; it's fitting that Travis is currently yodeling: "Well, you're a sweet talkin', sexy walkin', honky tonkin' baby, the men are gonna love ya and the woman gonna hate ya. Remindin' them of everythin' they're never gonna be, may be the beginning of a world war three. 'Cause the world ain't ready for nothing like Y-O-U. I bet your mama musta been another good lookin' mama, too."_

_Just as I turn to greet her, a pair of warm, delicate hands covers my eyes and I feel her breath on my cheek as her lips come in close contact with my ear._

_"Guess who?" she drawls._

_"Mom?" I tease, and Breezy gives an exasperated sigh before removing her hands from my face._

_"Sorry I'm late," she says, and placing my hand on her elbow, I help her up into the stool beside me. "I was helping my mother do some baking for this retreat thing she's going to on Saturday and…well you know what my mother gets like when she's in one of her, 'What Would Jesus Do?' moods."_

_"Jesus would have a stroke if He knew his precious Bree-Anne was out wandering the streets of Yonkers in a jean skirt, tank top and hooker shoes," I chide, and wave the bartender over._

_Christ, Breezy looks something hot and sexy with her hair in a messy sweep and clad in a dark denim number that stops a couple of inches above her knees, an emerald green silky tank that ties around her neck and a pair of black high heeled sandals that have straps that snake around the lower part of her calves._

_"I wore these shoes just for you," she says, as she sets a black clutch purse on the bar. "I know how much sexy kicks turn you on, Donald."_

_I smirk and sip my beer; girl certainly doesn't miss a beat._

_"Whiskey sour," she orders from the bartender, and then plucks a pretzel out of the basket. "So…" she nibbles on one of the edges. "What's the deal? Why are we…" she glances around the bar and grimaces at me. "…here."_

_"I figured you wouldn't want to run the risk of meeting somewhere in mid-town or even Queens," I reason. "Lots of cop bars and I didn't think you'd want take the chance of it getting back to Dean that we were together. Something tells me he wouldn't be too keen on the idea of us hanging out."_

_"Dean isn't too keen on the idea of me leaving the house," she remarks dryly, then gives the barkeep a smile as he sets her drink down in front of her. "If he could keep me on leash or at the very least implant a GPS chip somewhere in me, he'd be in his glory."_

_"He seems to be a little…protective…when it comes to you," I say, my eyes riveted on my beer bottle as I pick at its label. Truth be told, Breezy makes me nervous. In fact, she -or more so the way I feel about her- scares the crap out me. It's unsettling that I still love her as much as I do; that I'd never gotten over her. I know that I should feel guilty for even contemplating making a move on her -on another guy's wife- but what really scares me is the thought of rejection._

_"Protective?" Breezy smirks and sips her drink through the tiny red straw poking out of it. "Don't you mean possessive?"_

_"Guess he just doesn't want you getting away," I reason instead of responding, and raising my beer to my lips, gulp down a mouthful before tacking on a brave statement: "I know letting you get away was the worst mistake I've ever made."_

_Breezy pauses before taking a sip of her drink, eyes locked on my profile as her straw just touches her coral painted lips._

_"You know me," I give a smirk and shrug my shoulders. "I've always been a fan of brutal honesty. Not sure how I feel about getting my heart trampled all over though…"_

_"And who would do that to you, Don?" she asks, and takes a pull from the straw. "I hope you're not talking about present company."_

_"I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore," I sigh. "Guess I've had a few too many of these," I nod at my bottle before polishing off the remains and setting it down on the bar._

_"Alcohol always was your weakness," Breezy says. "I remember when you and I broke up when we were teenagers and you broke into your dad's liquor cabinet and when he got home he found the thing nearly completely empty and you passed out in the middle of the living room floor."_

_"Naked and lying in a puddle of my own puke," I smirk. "Not one of my finer moments. And the first and only time I've ever had alcohol poisoning."_

_"So far you mean," she teases, and lays her hand on the back of my neck and rubs softly._

_That simple touch causes me to tingle from head to toe; and it ain't the booze in my system that's having such a profound effect on me. It's this woman - the smell of her, the sound of her voice, her smile and that playful twinkle and her eye- that is driving me completely insane. I've never wanted anyone so badly in my entire life and it's killing me to hold it all back from her. To resist the powerful urges to take her back to my place and rediscover every inch of her. And get to know everything that may have changed. And when the tips of her fingers brush against my hairline, I shiver, and then tense up completely._

_"I'm sorry," Breezy yanks her hand away. "I shouldn't have…"_

_As she lays her tiny, delicate hand on top of the bar, I cover it with my own. And I'm relieved when she doesn't pull away, but entwines her fingers with mine._

_"I missed you," I tell her, then shake my head slowly. "So bad."_

_"I missed you too, Donnie," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "And I'm sorry that things are so…difficult…"_

_"That's an understatement if I've ever heard one," I chuckle, then nod my thanks at the bartender as he brings both Breezy and I fresh drinks._

_"And a couple of shots of snake bite," Breezy orders. "Hell…make it a couple shots each."_

_"Lady likes her liquor," the young barkeep says with a grin, and she gives one of her sly smiles and a dainty shrug._

_"Why Miss Douglas…" I drawl, as I help myself to a handful of the pretzels. I refuse to call her by the last name Truby, and her inability to correct me tells me she doesn't particularly want me to use her married name ever. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to get me drunk."_

_"You think?" she laughs at that. "Donnie, come on. Give me some credit. Of course I'm trying to get you drunk. How else would I be able to take advantage of you later in one of the bathroom stalls or in the alley?"_

_I smirk and shake my head. "What would mommy and daddy ever say…?"_

_"Mommy and daddy long ago gave up hope that I was going to heaven," she says. "I think they realize that I'm not that same little girl they've been drilling bible lessons and Sunday school into since I was old enough to walk and talk."_

_"I think I'm the one solely to blame for that," I declare, as the bartender slides our shots, drinks and a tiny bowl of lemon slices and a salt shaker across the bar towards us._

_"Do not insult me young man," Breezy shoves the lemon and the salt back at him. "I grew up with five older brothers. I know how to handle my booze. In fact…" she lifts her ass off her stool and leans over the bar, eyes narrowing as she scans the bottles on the shelves across from us. "You see that bottle of Jagermeister there?" she nods her head in the direction of the liquor in question. "I do believe it has my name written all over it."_

_"That's seventy proof babe," I remind her, the term of affection slipping so easily and wonderfully out of my mouth._

_"Don't be a pussy," she scolds. "I really do think that it belongs to me regardless of what he says," she whispers to the bartender. "Now how about in exchange for me letting you stare at my tits while I talk to you, you pass me the booze."_

_I choke on a mouthful of beer, and then laugh as the barkeep's cheeks go a brilliant shade of red._

_"Muchos gracias," she says, when he grabs the Jagermeister and sets it down on the bar. "Now if you don't mind…" she shoos him away with her hand. "We'd like a little privacy."_

_He holds his hands up in apologetic surrender and backs away._

_"You certainly have a way with the guys," I commenting, as Breezy and I grin at each other._

_"It's a gift," she declares, then picks up her shot glass and pushes mine towards me. "Come on DJ…" she encourages. "This lady doesn't like to drink alone."_

_She's the only one that has ever called me that. And the only one I would actually let call me by that nickname._

_"I'll drink with you," I tell her, and pick up my own shot. "But I'm not a 'fuck in the toilets' kind of guy."_

_"Well then dark alleyway it is," she concludes, and then winks at me as we both down our shots._

_As I fill the tiny glasses to the brim with Jagermeister and she takes a sip of her whiskey sour, I'm dying to ask her if she's serious about where we're going to end up tonight. I don't want to seem too eager or desperate, but spending the night with her is something I'd like to prepare myself for. I want to be able to cut myself off of the booze before I'm too far gone to even remember my own name, never mind be a complete disappointment to her in the bedroom. And while I'm not against a quick, uncomplicated fuck -I've indulged in a few during my nights out with Messer- I know that it could never be that way with Breezy. There's just too much history, too many feelings just lingering under the surface. And I don't want it to be that way with her; I've waited too goddamn long to be with her to want it to be anything but amazing and memorable._

_"You know when you said how Dean is the way he is because he doesn't want to lose me?" she suddenly asks, all the teasing and light heartiness out of her voice and wiped clean off of her face. "And you said that letting me go was the worst mistake you ever made."_

_"It's the truth," I admit._

_"Just so you know, letting you go was my worst mistake," she says. "The worst one of my entire life. And I…" she sighs and pushes a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "And I know that we were just kids, Donnie. And that you were young and that you were…well you were nothing like him even then."_

_"Dean you mean?"_

_She nods. "I don't know why he is the way he is," she continues. "Why he thinks its okay to tell me who I can talk to and where I can go and what I can wear…I mean I had to buy this outfit and hide it in a suitcase under the bed until he went away. Because if he ever saw me like this…"_

_She's struggling to talk about Dean, and I listen intently and patiently, giving her the chance to build up the courage._

_"One time I wore a strapless sundress because I thought he'd like it…that he'd find me beautiful and sexy. And you know what he said to me? About what I was wearing?"_

_I shake my head._

_"He told me that I was slut; no better than the nasty ass bitches he used to bust while he worked Vice."_

_It isn't the first time I want to knock Truby the fuck out, and trust me, it won't be the last. And I take a swig of beer to rid myself of the acrid taste of bile in my mouth and the lump of raw anger that has settled in my throat._

_"Well it doesn't matter to me who you talk to or who you hang out with or what you wear," I assure her. "Believe me, you could wear a garbage bag and you'd still look beautiful."_

_She manages a small smile. "You always have been a tad prejudiced," she says._

_"Naw…" I shake my head. "It's not a tad prejudiced, babe. It's just a whole lot of being in love with you."_

_Breezy blinks; startled by my admission._

_"What?" I ask, and swig beer. "Too much? Too cheesy? Too…"_

_She lays her hand on my the side of my face, forcing me to look at her. And our eyes briefly search each other's faces before she lifts herself out of her stool and then leans into me to cover my mouth with hers in a long, deep kiss. I can taste the mixture of Jack Daniels and tequila on her lips and tongue as it slides smoothly and erotically against mine, and I feel the weight of her hand on my thigh then groan into her mouth when her fingers boldly graze over my stirring erection._

_

* * *

_

_Breezy pulls away first, runs the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip followed by the top, then reaches out to clear lipstick off of my mouth with the pad of her thumb before plopping back down on her stool._

_"You know…" I shake my head as I pick up my shot, and then nod at hers in encouragement to do the same. "Too much of these and I won't be of much use to you."_

_"That would just be a goddamn Greek tragedy," she says, and we grin at each other before both downing the powerful liquor. "I wonder what the going rate for condoms in bar bathrooms is these days," she slyly comments, and sips at her whiskey sour._

_"Seventy five cents," I answer quickly, and she laughs. "What?" I chuckle. "I can't help but notice the price when I go in to take a leak."_

_"Yeah…I'm so sure that's how you know the price…" she winks at me. "Something tells me you buy rolls of quarters at the bank so you can use those prophylactic dispensers on a regular basis."_

_"Prophylactic," I snort and shake my head. "Breezy, that sweet, little Catholic girl side of you is squeaking through."_

_"Oh don't worry…" her tongue sneaks out of her mouth and she teases the end of her straw with the dip. "I have a secret weapon to keep her away for good."_

_"Really?" I swallow back some beer. "And what would this secret weapon be?"_

_She wiggles her eyebrows, then motions for me to move closer to her. "My secret weapon is…" she cups her hand around my ear and I suppress a shudder as I feel her lips against my skin. "…I'm not wearing any underwear in a public place."_

_I pull away from her; eyes wide as they search her face for the truth._

_She grins, captures my hand in hers, places it on her thigh and then applies pressure in silent encouragement to check for myself. I look around the bar, and when I sure that there's no one watching, I slip my hand along her silky skin and up underneath the bottom of her skirt. My eyes are locked on hers the entire time, and I can't help but give a satisfied smirk when my fingers not only come in contact with the barren promise land, but I notice her shiver._

_"What's gotten into you?" I ask, as I lean in close and our lips briefly touch._

_"Nothing," she replies. Then adds, "Yet," before planting another searing kiss on me. And I nearly knock my beer over when I reach out to grasp her by the back of the neck and my elbow comes in contact with the bottle._

_"People are going to think I'm a hooker," she giggles, when we pull away from each other, completely breathless._

_"Escort," I correct. "And a high priced one at that. 'Cause trust me, someone that looks like you would cost a fortune."_

_"Well I guess it's lucky for you that I have such a cop fetish and I would never think of charging you Detective Flack," she says, then gives a giggle as she reaches up to yank the Mets cap off of my head and arranges it sideways on her own. "I want to play some pool!" she exclaims, and gathers up the bottle of Jagermeister, her whiskey sour and her shot glass. "And play some good music on the juke box. Think you could spare some of your condom quarters for some tunes?"_

_"Very funny," I say, and then watch with a grin as she walks backwards towards the pool tables, sipping her drink the entire time. "Are you coming, handsome?" she asks. "I promise I'll go easy on you and I won't school you too bad."_

_I smirk, and taking a swig of my beer, slide off my stool and eagerly follow her._

_"What are we looking at?" I ask, as she fishes some change from her purse and pushes it through the slots on the pool table; releasing the balls. "Best three out of five? Four out of seven?"_

_"When you decide to quit because you've been humiliated enough," she replies with a grin, as I set my beer down on the table where she's placed her drinks._

_"You're pretty damn sure of yourself beautiful," I say, as I slip out of my hoodie, toss it on a nearby stool, then snag the triangle off of a hook on the wall, and start racking the balls._

_"I know how you're unable to concentrate around me Don," she retorts as she sidles up to me. "But you know what? You have a seriously unfair advantage."_

_"What's that?" I ask._

_She raises her eyebrows, lowers them again and then my back arches as she lifts the back of my t-shirt and the tips of her fingers make contact with the small of my back. "You know it's the one part of you that I've never been able to resist," she says, and casts a glance down at my ass._

_"Then shouldn't you really be leaving my shirt down?" I grin, as she tucks the back of my tee into the waist of my jeans._

_"I'm always up for a little eye candy," she declares, then moves over to the selection of pool cues mounted in a holder on the wall. "Do you think you could help me pick out my stick?" she asks, casting a glance at me over her shoulder. "You know how much I love the longest, smoothest, hardest ones."_

_A smirk tugs at my lips, and wandering over to where she's standing, I lay my hands on the chest high shelf in front of her and lean into her. Forcing her stomach and chest against the wood in front of her, and pressing my crotch against her ass._

_"I think I have the perfect one for you," I tell her, as my lips hover over her shoulder._

_"I bet you do," she says, and her chin falls to her chest and her eyes closed as my mouth makes contact with the nape of her neck._

_"I don't like to play games," I inform her, as I press the tip of my tongue against the skin just above the tie on her top and then blow a cool stream of air against her moistened flesh._

_"I'd never play games with you," Breezy whispers, and shoves her ass back against me. "Ever."_

_I give a satisfied nod, then reaching around her, hook a finger up her chin, turn her face into mine, and kiss her savagely._

_"Then how about we quit fucking around and just get the hell out of here," I suggest. "'Cause I'm being serious here and if you are too…"_

_"I'm being dead serious," she declares, then pecks me chastely on the lips before ducking down to slip underneath my arm. "Let's go," she orders, then grabs a hold of my hand and yanks me across the bar, gathering her purse and my sweatshirt as we rush past the pool table._

_I may not ever come back to Billy Bats, but one thing is for sure._

_I'll remember this bar and this night for the rest of my life._

* * *

**Massive thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and even just lurking! I appreciate all of the support!**

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	30. Strong Enough

**DISCLAIMER: SAME AS ALL THE OTHER CHAPTERS BEFORE**

**USE OF ITALICS DENOTES A FLASHBACK**

**THANKS TO CASS FOR ALL OF HER HELP (THE SMUT IS AWESOME!) HUGS AND KISSES! LUVS YA!**

**WARNING: THIS IS AN M RATED CHAPTER. IF YOU'RE OFFENDED BY SLIGHT SMUT, MOVE ON TO THE SECOND SECTION!**

* * *

**Strong Enough**

"I have a face I cannot show  
I make the rules up as I go  
It's try and love me if you can  
Are you strong enough to be my man?

When I've shown you that I just don't care  
When I'm throwing punches in the air  
When I'm broken down and I can't stand  
Will you be strong enough to be my man?

Lie to me  
I promise I'll believe  
Lie to me  
But please dont leave."  
-Strong Enough, Sheryl Crow

* * *

_**Breezy's POV**_

_I give a startled, almost pained gasp as my back meets cold, damp bricks; the rough texture scrapes against my tender skin as I'm held against the wall by the Donnie's full weight. He's tall, strong and powerful compared by the slight stature, and it's futile to resist as his hot, greedy mouth assaults my neck, my shoulder and the deliciously sensitive spot in between that he knows so well. And I whimper and yank at his hair as he explores it with his tongue and teeth. God...it feels so good. He feels so good._

_And it's been far too long._

_I vaguely remember grabbing his hoodie and my purse and dragging him out of the bar, and us impatiently rocking back and forth on my heels every nerve on high alert and desperate to be alone with him- as I stood at the side of his SUV while he insisted that he needed to find some things before we set off for his place. He couldn't just leave his badge and gun inside, and there was no way that either of us were even remotely capable of driving safely. A wise ass comment that I'd issued about a time we'd gone parking when we were teenagers and had been busted by two patrol men while in the act had elicited something strong and dark inside of Donnie, and I'd been slightly frightened -and incredibly turned on- when he'd grabbed my hips in his big, powerful hands and he'd shoved me back against the cold, hard metal of his SUV and then had pulled me tight into his hard, aroused body. Kissing me aggressively, thrusting his tongue into my mouth with little preamble, small sounds of pleasure erupting from my mouth as his hands aggressively roamed my body; stroking the flesh as though he was both trying to remember what I felt like, and attempting to learn every new angle and curve._

_There had been ragged, lustful whispers in my ear about how he didn't think he was going to be able to wait until we got to his place, that I had better prepare myself for one hell of a cab ride. And that's when I snapped; spurred on by his roaming hands and the feel of his stubble grazing across my shoulders and the press of his erection against me, and I'd suddenly noticed the dark entrance to the alleyway behind him. And catching him off guard, pushed him backwards into the darkness into the recess of a boarded up rear exit of a long abandoned shop._

_A firm grip on his hair, I yank him into a desperate and needy kiss, nipping his mouth with my teeth and eliciting a low growl of pleasure from him. His hands dig into my hips, then rapidly head south, finding the hem of my skirt. His calloused fingertips gliding along the tops of my thighs as he slowly pushes the denim upwards. Winding my arms around his neck, Donnie bites his bottom lip as his hands find my naked ass, firmly kneaded the flesh, and then brings one big hand around to the front, allowing his fingers to dip between my already moist and swollen lips. He shudders and lets out a hiss at how wet and ready I am; prove of how much I want him. And when presses his lower body against mine and I find out first hand just how much he wants me in return, my long starved body and libido reaches a startling point of no return._

_As Donnie brings his mouth back down on mine in a possessive kiss, I cry out at the feel of his fingers on my swollen clit. As he begins a rhythmic circling of the tender flesh and allows two of his big fingers to slip into me, I arch my back, a movement that sends the back of my head onto the bricks. And then I gasp loudly as he finds something I hadn't been aware of before: my g-spot. Wrenching my mouth from his, I see the lustful and determined look in his eyes as he massages both sensitive areas, quickly bringing me towards orgasm._

_Curling one arm around my waist, he lifts me up, using his considerable weight different to brace my lower body against the wall; giving him more access to my quivering, desperate body. And as he returns his mouth to my neck, I wind my legs around his waist and With his free hand, he reaches behind me with his free hand and quickly and effortlessly undoes the bow at the back of my neck that holds up my halter top. I feel the rush of air tighten my already erect nipples as the fabric pools at my waist, and he trails a path of hot, moist kisses over my bare shoulders before his mouth closes around one nipple, sucking at it and threatening to shatter my already frazzled nerves. Burrowing the fingers of one hand in his hair once again, I yank his head back up, kissing him hard while my free hand falls between us and begins a frantic search for his belt and zipper. I boldly stroke the hard length of him through the front of jeans, then feeling him shudder as I reached reach in and pulled him free of his boxers. Donnie thrusts lightly and eagerly into my hand, then as if he suddenly realizes where we are and what we're about to embark on, halts the ministrations between my legs and then pulls his hand away and opens his eyes. _

_"Not here, baby," he manages through ragged breathing. "This can't happen here. We can't..."_

_"I did offer you a choice," I say, panting as I wind my legs tighter round his waist. Raising myself up, I position his erection with my hand, biting back a gasp as the tip brushes against my opening. "And you ruled one of them out already, so this was your decision," and then I unceremoniously sink down onto the full, smooth, hard length of him, stifling a scream against his shoulder at the sudden, yet incredible intrusion and the feel of my body stretching to accommodate him._

_As if something inside of him becomes completely unravelled and he loses the will to protest, he grabs my ass in those big hands and using his own body to brace me against the wall, thrusts deeply into me. It's hard and fast; I love every second of it and my mouths meets his in a kiss. We're both desperate and greedy, and the thrill of this moment, the forbidden nature of what we were doing added in with the possibility we could get caught any second, has all my senses and every inch of me inside and out on edge. And just as I feel him get impossibly harder and bigger inside of me, my muscles start to flutter and he brings one hand round in front of me again, dipping those magic and talented fingers into my sodden flesh and massaging my clit again._

_It is a pounding, aggressive race to the finish, and Donnie comes at the same time he sends me toppling over the edge. My body quivers and shakes under the influence of the intense and extreme orgasm of my life and he clamps his mouth over mine in order to stifle the scream that threatens to erupt and the loud, long groan that is in dangers of escaping him. We remain locked together for a few minutes, our knees trembling and our bodies still pulsating, and I give a content sigh as he pulls me firmly to him and then kisses my temple. _

_I whimper and pout in disappointment when he finally slips out of me, and I watch as he tucks himself back into his pants before his hands find my hips and he ever so gently lowers me to the ground. _

_"Are you okay?" he asks, as I slump against the wall, my trembling and aching thighs feeling as if they're unable to support me. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"_

_I smile at the concern evident in his voice and in his eyes, and I shake my head and expel a long, shaky breath. "I'm fine," I assure him, and as I struggle to compose myself, Donnie takes a step towards me and his large hands reach for the hem of my top. Those fingers that had just so recently brought me effortlessly to the most unbelievable heights of passion are now tender and thoughtful as he pulls the halter top to cover my exposed body. _

_He looks...embarrassed, almost. As if he's disappointed and disgusted in himself for losing all control of the situation, and for allowing us to indulge in such an intimate moment in such dirty place. It's not one of my finer moments; but I won't allow myself to be horrified with myself or dumb down what exactly had taken place between us. It had gone far beyond sex; our bond had been re-forged. Our bodies had responded to one another as if no years had passed since the last time we'd made love. It was if our very souls had recognized on another and were celebrating a reconnection that had taken far too long to transpire._

_"We should get out of here," he says, as his fingers fumble slightly while tying the bow at the back of my neck. "You deserve..." he shakes his head and sighs heavily. "You deserve so much better than this."_

_"Things happen, Donnie," I reason. "You can't always be in control of everything."_

_He nods; our eyes meet in a long, knowing look. Dean has never inspired that sort of passion in me and has never managed to raise me to those heights of pleasure. And I'm sure, as Donnie cradles me in his arms and my head rests against his chest, that no other woman has ever touched him that way I can._

_Pulling away, he places a finger under my chin, and lifting my head up, kisses me lightly on the lips._

_"Let's find that cab," he says. "Let's go home."_

_

* * *

_

_"What time is it?" I murmur, as I lay on my stomach in the middle of Donnie's rumpled bed, naked and utterly sated. _

_My forearms are under the pillow below me, my right cheek resting against the cool, crisp pillowcase as I watch the shards of early morning sunlight that sneak through the slates on the vertical blinds that cover the lone window. Sounds of Saturday morning life trickles up from the street. Tires crunching as they pass over litter strewn in the streets, the clanging of metal garbage cans and the profanities that tumble out of the mouths of the sanitation crew in charge of the trash collection, dogs barking and the tags on their collars jingling as their respective owners stop to chat in the middle of the sidewalk. It all seems like a world away, as if I'm existing on some other blissful, dreamy plain. Where all that matters is the two people that are in this room and the incredible passion and the unshakable bonds of faith and love that we share. _

_Neither of us had ever dreamed when we were heartbroken eighteen year olds that this day would ever arrive. Where we'd be emotionally and physically spent after hours of both reconnecting and rediscovery; exhausted yet unwilling to succumb to sleep, our bodies aching and weary from the phenomenal bouts of love making that had seen us christening nearly every inch of the apartment. I've never felt so wanted and desirable before. Years of physical absence from one another's lives had left us starving and unable to get our fill. There's a history between us that no outside could possible understand. The man that lays next to me -on his side and propped on his elbow as his finger tips graze over every inch of my back- has never once escaped my heart or my mind in the past twelve years. It was nothing short of breathtaking to allow my eyes, mouth and hands to explore him. To learn all of the new angles to his body -every rippling muscle, every inch of his broad shoulders and chest and his beautiful back, shoulders and arms- and compare them to what I remembered from when we'd made love for the last time at eighteen. I'm simply amazed; my brain and hands recall a tall, slender boy and are in awe of the confident, strong and powerful man that has taken his place. He's attentive and tender when need be; rough and assertive if the situation calls for. His love making skills have matured along with his physical appearance, he seems to know exactly what I need and how I want things without even having to ask. As if he's reading even the subtlest signs that my body is emitting, that he is able to decipher every whimper and moan as a spoken request._

_I know I should feel guilty for what has happened, for falling so easily into both the arms and the bed of my teenage sweetheart. That I should be condemning myself for cheating on my husband with the man -boy, back then- that I'd spent a better part of four years left and I'd experienced so many firsts with. Donnie had been my everything. My best friend, my confidant, my lover. He'd been the one person who'd never judged me or put me down, who dried my tears when other people picked on me because of my upbringing and my family's often eccentric behaviour. Who kept me warm on cold winter nights and kissed and cuddled my fears away during violent thunderstorms. Who affectionately teased me about the Strawberry Shortcake bedspread and the seemingly endless amount of stuffed animals that decorate every nook and cranny in my bedroom. And who always complimented me about my hair or what I was wearing and gushed about how smart I was when I helped him with his homework. Of course, coming over to study and be tutored had meant something entirely different to him, and I can remember doing more giggling and resisting -half assed, of course- his advances on the basement couch of my folks' place then actual schoolwork. Especially the time he'd tried to convince me that he was learning CPR in gym class and needed all the practice he could get._

_The short of the matter was that Donnie had been my everything; he still is in many ways. God knows he's the guy I've always compared every man in my life too. And the only guilt that I feel is over getting married in the first place. For making a commitment to a man that I'm not even sure I love. I certainly don't love him or want him in the same way that I love and want Donnie. Nothing can ever come close to those feelings. But I am married; I've pledged my life to someone else despite knowing that my heart will always belong to another. And the only person that I feel sorry for in this sordid mess is Donnie; he's the innocent one. Because despite what he may be feeling right now and what thoughts and hopes are running through his mind, I owe it to Dean to make things work._

_"It's…" the mattress shifts beneath me as Donnie twists his body to steal a glance at the clock on the bedside table. "…quarter to seven."_

_"I've been up for an entire twenty four hours," I sigh, and turning my face towards him, give a sleepy smile._

_"Forty eight and counting," he shakes his head in disbelief._

_"Well that's because you're the big, bad policeman working tireless to rid the streets of evil on baddie at a time," I tease, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to my lips. _

_God, he's nothing short of walking, talking sex. Especially in the current state he's in; short, black hair slick with sweat and sticking up messily in every possible direction and two days worth of scruff taking up residence on his face. Of course, it doesn't hurt that he's totally naked on top of all of that. And that the top sheet that stops at the small of my back sits just over his hip. _

_"We should get some sleep," he says, using his fingertips to push my hair behind my ear before combing them through my unruly tresses and settling his hand in the middle of my back._

_"We should," I agree, then give a giggle. Lack of sleep as always made me notoriously giddy. "But I don't feel like it."_

_"Me either," he admits with a broad grin, then lying down beside me, rests the side of his head on my pillow; the tips of our noses touching, our warm breath wafting over each other's face. "You're beautiful," he says in a voice barely above a whisper. "I never thought that I'd get to see you like this again, Breezy. That we'd ever have this kind of moment together."_

_"The whole post-orgasmic, blissful afterglow, you mean?" I ask with another giggle._

_"I guess…but it's more than that with us. It's always been about more than that, don't you think? It's never been about the sex and the end result and more about what happens between us during the actual act."_

_My eyebrows shoot up at his profound statement. "Oh I don't know about that…" I wink. "I like to think that multiple orgasms are a huge ass part of why we do what we do."_

_"Okay…so the end result is a big deal and it is the best means to an end there can ever possible be," he says with an exasperated sigh. "But I think sex has always had something deeper and more…I don't know…powerful…when it came to me and you."_

_"Even when you were eighteen years old and getting lucky under the bleachers after the homecoming game?" I tease._

_"I'm being serious here," Donnie grumbles, and I give him a dramatic pout and cover his lips with mine in a soft, sweet kiss. "It's always been about more than that with us," he insists. "Always. I felt it every time starting when we were fifteen. And I felt it each and every time tonight. Don't tell me that you didn't feel it too, Breezy. That you didn't feel that right away. Even in that alley."_

_"I felt it," I admit, and reach up to comb my fingers through his hair, then twist and turn individual pieces to create a wild, punk like style. "I think I would have been shocked it I hadn't felt it."_

_He gives a drowsy smile; he's fighting sleep just as valiantly as I am. And for several long, wonderful minutes we lie in silence, his fingertips tracing over every scratch and bruise the bricks in the alley had left on my pale, smooth skin and our eyes firmly locked on each other._

_"Would it ruin your deep, philosophical mood if I told you how amazing you were?" I ask, finally breaking the silence._

_He grins and shakes his head. "It would do wonders for my ego," he replies, then chuckles as he places his hand on the small of my back and yanks me into him._

_"Like your ego needs any help," I chide, and tuck my head under his chin. _

_"We all need a little stroking now and then," he reasons, then bursts into a hearty laugh as I give a derisive snort and shove him over onto his back before sitting up and pulling the sheet up to cover my bare breasts. "Don't twist everything I say into something perverted," he says, and lays his hand on my thigh._

_"Please!" I give a laugh of my own. "You meant it to be perverted!"_

_He bites his bottom lip, then gives a nod and a shrug. He's not making any apologies. _

_

* * *

_

_We fall into a companionable silence, and as Donnie gives a long, content sigh and places a forearm over his eyes, my fingertips to slowly drift across his shoulders, exploring every blemish. I was there when he'd broken his collarbone in grade twelve; I'd been a hysterical mess in the ER. That scar is old now; fading into history just like the times we'd spent together as young, naïve kids. And there's new marks now, injuries that I assume he'd sustained in the bombing and during the subsequent surgeries. I continue with my exploring, combing my fingers through the dark hair that mats his chest and grinning as his back arches off the bed slightly when a circle his left nipple. Downward I go, until my eyes fall on the thick, jagged scar that mars the left side of his abdomen. The souvenir of his horrific injuries doesn't bother me; it's the thought that he'd come so very close to death and that our time together may have never happened that unnerves me. And tears are stinging my eyes as I allow the pad of my index finger to travel the length of the scar; then quickly yank my hand away when his body stiffens and he removes his forearm from over his eyes and stares at me._

_"I'm sorry," I yank my hand away quickly. "I don't know why I did that. I don't know why I.."_

_He captures my hand in his, and entwining our fingers, lays our joined hands on top of the scar. "It's okay," he says, giving me a soft smile before settling his head on the pillow once more. "Anyone else and that would bother me," he admits. _

_"I don't want it to bother you," I say. "I don't want to upset you and…"_

_"Babe…" his voice is firm, his tone forcing me to look at him. "This is me and you. It's all good, okay?"_

_I give a nervous smile and nod._

_"You're the first person I've willingly taken my shirt off in front of since the bombing," he tells me, as his eyes flicker away from me and focus on the ceiling. "Other than the doctors and nurses and what not…" he sighs, and I sit quietly and wait for him to continue. "…I just don't feel comfortable letting people see it, that's all. A couple of times when I've been…you know…with someone…well things didn't exactly end well."_

_"Because the scar bothers them?" I ask in disbelief._

_"Because they thought it was weird that I wouldn't take my shirt off," he replies. "Guess not wanting to take my shirt off during sex makes me a total freak."_

_"If you not taking your shirt off bothers people, then they're the freaks," I tell him. "You went through a terrible thing. You're still healing in a lot of ways; I'm not going to think any less of you because you're still hurting from it."_

_"It doesn't bother you?" he asks. "Be honest with me, Breezy. You've never lied to me before. If it bothers you, just tell me okay? If it freaks you out I'll put a shirt on and I'll…"_

_"Donnie…" I lean down and kiss his lips gently. "It's a scar; it doesn't define you or make you less of a man. It doesn't bother me. What bothers me is thinking about what could have happened. How you could have just giving up and slipped away from us and…"_

_"But I didn't," he softly interjects. "I didn't and I'm here. We're here."_

_I smile, then press my lips to his when he raises his head for a kiss. "To me…" I squeeze his hand and peck his forehead. "…you're perfectly imperfect."_

_He gives me that dimpled grin, then rests his head back down on the pillow._

_"I was worried I'd disappoint you," I bravely admit. "When we made love for the first time after twelve years. I was worried that I'd disappoint you and that you wouldn't want it to happen ever again."_

_"Oh I want it to happen again," he chuckles. "And again…and again…and again…"_

_I slap his chest with my free hand._

_"You could never disappoint me," he says, and raising our hands to his lips, presses a kiss to the top of my mine. "How could you ever think that?"_

_"I'm not eighteen years old anymore," I sigh. "My body's different for one thing."_

_"You're body is amazing," he praises. "And getting to know it was the mot fucking incredible thing I've ever experienced. So you're not eighteen anymore. Back then you were a little girl, babe. And now…well know you're this phenomenally strong, feisty, intelligent woman who takes my breath away. You're everything I remember. And then some."_

_"In a good way, right?" I nervously ask._

_"In the best way possible," Donnie replies. "We're not kids anymore, Breezy. I'm sure that I've changed."_

_I nod, and allow my eyes to sweep over his body. "You have," I admit. "And believe me, every inch of you is like my most perverted dream come true."_

_"Oh really?" he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, then drops my hand and twisting his body sideways, grabs me by the hips and pulls me on top of him as he flops over onto his back once more. "Your most perverted? 'Cause I seem to recall some of the daydreams you used to tell me about. You know, the ones in religion class that apparently had you running the bathroom to splash cold water on your face. Those were some dirty ass thoughts you were having while Sister Therese was up there drilling the Ten Commandments into everyone."_

_"I can't believe you actually remembering me telling you about those things," I mutter, as his hands settle on the small of my back and I rest my head on his shoulder. _

_"How does a horny high school guy not remember his girlfriend telling him about a dream that involves him stripping her naked, pouring chocolate sauce all over her body and licking it off. Slowly and methodically, I may add."_

_"Stop!" I cry, feeling my cheeks flush. "Do you really have to talk about that?"_

_"What? You're suddenly shy?" he teases. "I can't talk about a perverted dream you had but you let me do unmentionable things to you in a dark alley? Something is just a little wrong with that thought process."_

_I give an exasperated sigh; admitting defeat. "It wasn't chocolate sauce," I correct after a few minutes of silence. "It was butterscotch sundae topping." And with that I burst into giggles._

_"My mistake," he chuckles, and presses a kiss on the top of my head, and I shudder as his fingertips grazes along the small of my back. "I'm sorry," he says. "About earlier."_

_I raise my head and look at him, perplexed._

_"The marks on your back; from the bricks," he explains. "I got a little rough and I didn't mean to hurt you, babe. I got a little carried away and…"_

_I silence him with a kiss. "It was a good hurt," I assure him, and settle my head on his shoulder once more. _

_"Dean's going to notice those," worry tinges Donnie's voice. _

_"I'll just tell him that I got roughed up in the hallway at work," I say. "I do teach in Crown Heights; things get a little rowdy at the school every now and then."_

_He nods in understanding._

_"I think we should be more worried about the fact that we didn't use protection," I add. "In the alley…"_

_Donnie gives a sigh. "Not one of my finer moments," he admits. _

_"I doubt that anything will come of it," I continue. "I mean, I just had my period a week ago so it's nowhere near time to ovulate and I need to be ovulating to get pregnant and it will be another couple of weeks before my body thinks it's time to conceive a baby and…"_

_"You're rambling," Donnie says, and presses a kiss to the top of my head._

_"And if you want me to I can always go and get the morning after pill," I finish. "I'm sure if I wander into an ER in that outfit I had on last night, the doctor will think I'm just some girl that got a little too carried away last night and I did some things I shouldn't have. If you want me to, I'll go and get one of those pills."_

_"When did you become such a lapsed Catholic?" he teases, then winces when I nip at his shoulder._

_"Oh I don't," I issue a heavy sigh before sitting up and placing a knee on either side of his body so that I'm straddling him. "Maybe when I decided to totally destroy my wedding vows and have sex with my ex boyfriend. In a public place."_

_"But it was so totally hot," he grins, as his hands slip from my hips to the tops of my thighs. "Hot, dirty and kinky and everything else that made it so fucking awesome."_

_"The morning after pill…" I press._

_"If you think you need to take one, then we'll go and get you one," he says. "Do you feel like you need to take one?"_

_I shake my head._

_"Then don't worry about," Donnie concludes. "And we used protection when we got back here. Every time. All four times…" he gives a smile that indicates he's very, very pleased with himself._

_"Five," I correct, and when he frowns I begin listing off all the places in his apartment that we had managed to desecrate. "Against the back of the front door, kitchen table, couch, bed, shower…"_

_"Shower doesn't count," he argues. "That wasn't actual sex. Oral doesn't count as sex."_

_"Okay Bill Clinton," I laugh, and the suddenly feel very exposed sitting there on top of him, as naked as the day I was born and his eyes wandering slowly over my body. "What are you thinking about?" I ask nervously, and his eyes flicker up to my face and he smiles. "Something perverted and gross, I bet."_

_"Actually…" he runs his hands up and down my thighs. "I was thinking about Dean."_

_I grimace. "Oh that's nice. I'm sitting naked on top of you and you're thinking about my…" I can't even bring myself to say the word husband. Not after everything that has gone down between Donnie and I. After everything that we've shared and how we've reconnected, saying the word husband and even acknowledging that I have one only serves to disrespect what Donnie and I have rediscovered with one another. "Thinking about him," I finish, as his fingertips trail lightly over my knees._

_"Not like that," Donnie scolds. "I was just thinking about how he must be a complete and utter moron for not realizing what he has. For not appreciating you. I hear the things he says, Breezy. About you. And trust me, he's lucky I haven't kicked the shit out of him. Or that he's not chopped up into little pieces and scattered all over the city."_

_"He seems to think that he's big and bad," I roll my eyes. "And that being married gives him the right to treat me anyway he wants to."_

_"Well it doesn't. No one should talk about their wife like that; the person you're supposed to be spending the rest of your life with. Who you took all those vows with. You're supposed to take care of them and protect them and honour them. Not treat them like a piece of trash. You're supposed to love and respect them like…" he halts, and when I look down at him I see him struggling with the final part of his sentence, as if he's weighing his options on what kind of reaction his words will elicit out of me. "Like I love and respect you," he finishes._

_I give a soft smile, then lean down and cover his lips with mine in a slow, tender kiss._

_"Why do you stay with him?" Donnie asks, as his hands leave my thighs in order to push the hair out of my face. "If you know he's like that, why do stay with him?"_

_"Because I took the vows too," I reply. "Because I owe it to him to make things work."_

_"You don't owe him shit," Donnie says. "He doesn't deserve that, Breezy. He doesn't deserve you. Hell, even I don't deserve you."_

_"You're right," I sigh. "Because you deserve so much better."_

_"That's not what I meant and you know it," he captures my face in both of his hands. "Look, I know that you probably didn't expect things to happen between us, but they did. And I love you and I know that you love me. I don't need you to say the words; I just know. And I'll take care of you, baby. I'll give you everything that he doesn't."_

_"I can't just up and leave him for you," I argue gently. "We've only spent one night together, Don and I…"_

_"And that should be enough," he concludes._

_"But it's not," I sigh. "And I think deep down you know that it's not enough too. That there needs to be…more…between us before I can just walk away from Dean and settle down with you. Before I can just throw my marriage away and…"_

_"Here I was thinking you'd already thrown it away when we did what we did in that alley," he remarks dryly. "Isn't that against one of your marriage vows? Having sex with someone other than your husband?"_

_"You're not making this easy," I scold._

_"There's nothing easy about this," he concludes. "How can there be? How can it be simple when there's so many people involved?"_

_"Are you regretting meeting me last night?" I ask, afraid to hear the answer._

_"I don't regret anything about last night," Donnie replies, and runs the pads of his thumbs over the tops of my cheeks and pecks the tip of my nose. "And I don't regret getting involved with you while you're with Dean. But…"_

_"Always a but," I chide, managing a shaky smile._

_"But I'm not going to carry on like this forever," he informs me. "I'm not going to spend the rest of my life being second, Breezy. I'm not…"_

_"You aren't second," I inform him. "You never have been. At least not in my heart."_

_"And I'm not going to be happy just being the guy that you're running around with 'cause your husband is a prick but you're too afraid to leave him. And don't tell me you're not scared; you're shitting yourself because you know what he's capable of and you know your parents will probably disown you. But I'm not going to be some casualty here, okay? I'm not going to spend years waiting for you to come around and leave him for me. I'm just not going to do that."_

_"You won't have to," I assure him. "I just need some time to sort things out. There's just so many people and feelings involved and I just need…I just need a bit of time, Don. That's all I'm asking for. You're not second and you know that. I just need you to be patient for a while and…"_

_"How long is a while?" he asks. _

_"I don't know," I admit. "All I know is that this isn't going to happen overnight and you need to give me a chance to end things properly. Can you do that for me?"_

_He sighs heavily, then gives a reluctant nod._

_"I'm not saying that you can't have a life or anything," I add. "If there's women you want to go out with and even…" I pause and grit my teeth before continuing. "…sleep with, then go ahead and do it."_

_"What is wrong with you?" he asks with a frown. "I'm not going to sleep with anyone else but you. Quit talking crazy shit. You said you need some time and I'll give you that. But I'm not giving you forever. I'm not going to wait a long assed time for you to make up your mind."_

_"And you won't have to," I promise, and lean down to kiss him. "You won't have to," I repeat, and settle my head in the space between his neck and his shoulder as the hands that were on my face come to rest on my shoulders and then slip down my back. "Do you have to go to work today?" I ask, hoping and praying that the answer is no._

_"I was supposed to," he replies. "On Saturday, off Sunday. Dean comes back Sunday night?"_

_I nod. "He said he'd be back around midnight."_

_"So that means I have you all to myself for the better part of two days," he concludes. "Which means I think I'll call in sick today. Then I'll turn off every phone in this place and me and you will just lock ourselves inside, order food in…"_

_"I'll have to go home and get some things," I say. "Some personal effects and some clothes and…"_

_"Clothes?" he chuckles. "Baby, you aren't going to need any clothes. Trust me. And whatever you need, there's a bodega a block over and I'll buy you whatever your little heart desires, okay?"_

_I nod. _

_"You're not going anywhere," he declares, and skims his fingertips along my thighs. "You know what we should do right now?" he asks._

_"Get some sleep?" I inquire with a yawn._

_"We can sleep when we're dead," he replies. "I was actually thinking about how I'm kind of hungry."_

_"Some things never change," I giggle, and press a kiss to the side of his neck._

_"I'm going to get something," he says, and unceremoniously twists his body to the side and dumps me onto my back. "Something we'll both like."_

_"You're going to make me some of your famous banana pancakes?" I ask hopefully. "I remember marvelling at them when we were younger 'cause you were the only teenage guy I knew who actually could cook."_

_"Those can come later," he says, and grabbing his boxers off of the floor, climbs into them before leaning over the bed to kiss me softly. "I actually have a craving for something else."_

_I arch a quizzical eyebrow as he heads for the door. "Are you going to keep it a secret or fill me in?" I ask._

_He pauses in the doorway, then gives a cheeky grin. "There's a bottle of chocolate sauce in my fridge that is just begging for attention," he answers. "I mean, I know it's not caramel like the dream requires, but.."_

_I feel myself flush, and reaching behind me I snag one of the pillows and toss it in the direction of the door._

_"I'll be back," he promises, then scoops the pillow up off of the floor when it lands at his feet, and hurtles it towards the bed. _

_"And I'll be waiting," I say, and settle my naked body in the middle of the bed._

* * *

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	31. Smile

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* * *

**Smile**

"You're better then the best, I'm lucky just to linger in your light.  
Cooler then the flip side of my pillow, that's right.  
Completely unaware, nothing can compare  
to where you send me, let's me know that it's okay  
Yeah, it's okay  
And the moments where my good times start to fade.

Even when you're gone, somehow you come along just like a flower poking out of a sidewalk crack.  
And just like that you steal away the rain.  
And just like that you make me:

Smile like the sun, fall out of bed.  
Sing like a bird, dizzy in my head.  
Spin like a record, crazy on a Sunday night.  
You make me dance like a fool, forget how to breathe.  
Shine like gold, buzz like a bee.  
Just the thought of you can drive me wild.  
Oh you make me smile.

Don't know how I lived without you,  
'cause every time I get around you, I see the best of me in your eyes.  
You make me smile."-Smile, Uncle Kracker

* * *

_**Breezy's POV**_

"It killed me you know," Donnie says, as we stroll leisurely, hand in hand, down Far Rockaway Beach. The sunset paints the horizon a breathtaking mixture of fiery orange and rich fuchsia and causes the rippling water to sparkle majestically. "When you left to go back to Dean that Sunday."

"I know," I sigh, and keeping a firm grip on his hand, reach across my body with my right arm and curl it around his bicep before resting my head against his shoulder. "And it killed me to walk away from you like that."

It's done us a world of good to talk about our past; most specifically the illicit yet intensely powerful and mind numbingly passionate affair that we'd embarked on during my marriage. I expected the subject to come up -especially with how fast things are transpiring between us now that we're back together- and I'd mentally prepared myself for the painful memories that co-habited with the amazing ones. When Donnie had suggested that we skip the benefit and just spend the evening -and the weekend considering Collin had already been shipped off to Bianca's would stay there until Sunday afternoon- alone, I'd eagerly jumped at the opportunity for some 'us' time. I have to admit, I am slightly disappointed that I won't get to see him in a tux or do a James Bond impersonation. "Flack, Don Flack," he'd drawled, when I told him to humour me and give me a 'little something' in light of not being able to see him all dressed up.

Not going to a formal event with the elite of Manhattan society isn't a big deal to me. I don't exactly fit in with that kind of crowd and would have only felt completely out of place for the entire evening. And the last thing I'd been in the mood for was a confrontation with Robert Dunbrook; he's ruthless and evil and his loyalty to Phil knows no bounds. I highly doubt that the issue of the assault charges are just going to disappear; Uncle Bobby will stop at nothing to make sure that his precious Godson is seen as the victim in the end.

My last worry is the dress that I'd nearly maxed my credit card out on. It can always go back to the store and I can use the refund to buy something perfect for the wedding. My wedding. Our wedding. The thought brings a smile to my face; being Donnie's wife is everything I've ever wanted since I was sixteen years old and began envision and dreaming about a future with him. He'd given me a promise ring for my birthday that year; a simple white gold band with a tiny sapphire in the middle of it. It wasn't much, but the thought that he'd worked his ass off for almost an entire year and scrimped and saved and went without the luxuries that sixteen year old boys buy with their small wages from their after school jobs, had made that ring invaluable to me. It had symbolized our future; I still wear it, having moved it to my right hand after we'd busted up the summer we were eighteen. I could never bring myself to part with it no matter what man was in my life, and I'd be more than happy to put it back on my left hand as a proof of our engagement. I don't expect a fancy diamond; knowing that I have his heart is enough for me.

"I tried so hard," I say, as I stroke his bicep softly. "I tried so hard to convince myself that I needed to end it; I wanted to protect you. But I couldn't stay away from you; I couldn't get enough of you."

"I would have given anything for you to stay," Donnie tells me. "When I walked you downstairs and put you in that cab," he sighs heavily and shakes his head. "It tore me up, Breezy. Because I knew what you were going back to and I knew there was nothing I could do to stop you. There was nothing I could do to make you change your mind; you needed the time to get things sorted out and I respected you enough to give that to you. I wasn't going to force you to do anything that would only make things worse between you and Dean."

"I should have left sooner then I planned to," I lamented. "If I had have just left even two weeks earlier then when I was going to…if I'd just walked away that last time he got drunk and out of hand things wouldn't have been so messed up for the last three and a half years. Had I just never gone home that night I showed up at your place with scared out of my mind with a bloody nose and split lip…"

"Dean had already stolen the drugs," Donnie gently reminds me. "He'd done that months before. And he still would have been in the warehouse that night and he still would have killed Kym Tanaka. None of that has any bearing on us, Breezy."

"But I would have already been with you," I argue. "I would have been rid of Dean and we would have been together."

"But you still would have had to testify," he points out. "And Dean's lawyers still would have brought up the fact that we were messing around behind his back. None of that would have been any different."

"But we would have had each other to fall back on," I say. "And having each other would have made all the difference in the world. We probably would have been living together by then and we wouldn't have been apart from the time he was arrested until the trial. And we never would have had that fight in the courthouse and I never would have walked away that day."

"And we might never have had Collin," Donnie adds. "Had things been normal and great between us, he might not be here right now. We conceived him during our affair or whatever you want to call it. Had we been in a somewhat stable relationship, who knows? We might have thought more about taking precautions to prevent having a baby. The craziness of it all made us sloppy and careless and had we not been, well it's possible that we may never have had him. And if we had to suffer like we did to get him? Well then all of that pain and bullshit was worth it in my book."

"He is the only good thing that came out of it," I conclude.

"I don't know about that," Donnie gives a shrug. "I like to think that in the end, it made us realize how much we do love each other; how we can't live without one another. And that no matter how much time passes and no matter who comes and goes out of our lives, we always seemed to have a huge piece of each other. What's that saying? If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it's yours…"

"If it doesn't it, never was," I finish.

"We let each other go that day in the courthouse; we had to do whatever it took to save ourselves. And you kept you secret about Collin to protect him; I'll never fault you or think less of you for looking out for our son. But in the end we found each other again. We came back to one another. Because it's meant to be. _We're _meant to be."

A smile tugs at the corner of my lips and I hug Donnie's arm to me. "You're getting corny in your old age," I tease.

"Maybe," he grins. "But things have been so dark for so long that it feels good to be this way. I don't know for sure what made me show up at your place, Breezy. Why I picked that exact day to stroke your name off of my karma list. But I know that something pushed me there; to you and Collin. I don't know what it was or who it was, but I felt like I couldn't stop it no matter how hard I tried. What if I had have waited a few months? You could have been married to that douche bag and you and I may never have gotten back together. How would I have ever competed with him? A guy that has Robert Dunbrook for a godfather and money coming out of his ass? He would have been Collin's father and…"

"No, he would have been Collin's step-father," I correct. "And there is no competition, Donnie; no matter who I might have been with. I was never going to stop loving you and the minute you came back into my life…well any other guy wouldn't have stood a chance. You're our son's father. No one can ever take that away from you."

"What about Dean?" he asks. "It's his name on the birth certificate."

"Dean is…" I sigh. "…a monumental mistake. I guess I just panicked and wrote his name down. I don't even know why I did it, to be honest. What mother wants a convicted killer and a dirty cop to lay claim to her kid? It was a stupid thing I did; I should have just left it blank."

"Probably would have caused a whole shit load of issues with your old man," Donnie remarks dryly. "He already had his undies in a twist over the fact that you and I had been messing around. You leaving that birth certificate blank? That would have just made everything a whole lot worse."

"How much worse could it have gotten?" I laugh. "I mean, he made me get re-baptize because it would 'cleanse my soul and strip me of all the evil and impurities'. And I can't believe that my family doesn't realize that Collin does not belong to Dean. Just looking at him it's pretty damn obvious that he doesn't look like my ex husband. And he certainly doesn't look me."

"Boy got all the important stuff from his old man," Donnie chides in an attempt to lighten the mood, and drops a kiss on the top of my head.

"They know Donnie; I refuse to believe they don't. But them admitting it out loud? Well that just makes the entire situation too real to them. Them saying that they know Collin is yours totally confirms all of the bad shit that they think about me. To them I'm just an adulterer who had a child out of wedlock. A child who was the by-product of an affair. That's all I am to them; some dirty slut who embarrassed them. And it hurts them too much to admit it out loud."

"You had a baby with someone that you loved and who loved you back," Donnie says, irritation and anger creeping into his voice as he dunks all of the horrible things my family thinks of me. "You had to go and find someone that would make you feel safe and wanted because your husband was an asshole who got his kicks torturing you emotionally. Dean was the bad person Breezy, not you. Sure, we didn't handle things in the best way. But you know what? We loved each other; Collin was created out of that. And he's our son and we're going to raise him together. And if they don't like that…"

"They're not going to like that," I sigh. "At all."

"If they loved you, they'd be okay with it. You're still their daughter and Collin is still their grandson. Just because you made some bad choices doesn't make you less of a person. And the fact that they treat you like that? Who the fuck died and made them God? Your dad didn't find God until he met your mom, right?"

I nod.

"So who the hell knows what he was like before then? I bet he never talks about that, right? I bet he never talks about the shitty things he's done."

"He says that he atoned for all of his mistakes," I say. "That God forgave him."

"But you're different?" Donnie gives a derisive snort. "God won't forgive you for doing what you had felt you had to in order to get out of a fucked up marriage? Dean was a monster, Breezy; you were scared and you felt like you didn't have another choice. There's so many worse things that people are doing out there. I see it day after day; murderers, child molesters, pimps, drug dealers. The list goes on and on and on. And those people? They're the ones that deserve to burn in hell. Not a scared little girl hiding in a woman's body that felt as if she didn't have any other choice; any other way out."

"I'll be judged for what I did in the end," I say.

"That's fucking bullshit," Donnie mutters. "You know I love you and I respect your whole WWJD stance on things sometimes, but you didn't do anything wrong. And neither did Collin. And your old man can preach as long as he wants, as much as he wants. He wasn't in that situation; you were. Never judge a man until you walk a mile in his shoes, right?"

I nod.

"Well then you tell the judgemental fucker to put on a pair of those strappy heels you like so much and get to steppin'. And that if he wants to say shit about you or Collin, to come and talk to me. 'Cause I subscribe to my own little belief system. You know what that is?"

I shake my head.

"Hit first, ask questions later. I'm the wrong person he wants to fuck with. I'll do anything for you and Collin; I'd die for you and our son."

"I know you would," I say and squeeze his hand. "You're the only person that's ever made me feel safe, Donnie. The only person I've ever trusted when he said that he'd never hurt me."

"But I did hurt you, Breezy. I promised you forever and when I let you walk out of the courthouse that day and…"

"We can apologize for the things we said and how we acted until we're blue in the face," I interrupt. "We both screwed up, Donnie. We were immature brats stuck in grown up bodies. We both could have handled things a lot better that day and we didn't. And we paid for it. Big time. We…"

"We atoned for things," he finishes. "See?" he gives my hand a squeeze and raising it to his lips, pecks the top of it. "We've made up for the shitty, stupid things we did; we're not going to hell after all."

I can't help but crack a smile.

"And you know what the great thing is?" Donnie asks. "If we did end up going to hell anyway? You know what the positive side is?"

"No more New York City winters?" I inquire, and then give a dramatic shiver.

"Well that, too. But I was thinking about seeing how populated hell is, we'll never be lonely."

I laugh and use my elbow to playfully shove him away. "You can be such a turd," I complain.

"A turd?" Donnie chuckles. "How old are you? Next thing you know you'll be calling me a poo-head."

"That's Collin's favourite insult," I giggle. "He loves to call people poo-heads. He told my dad once he was a poo-head because grandpa wouldn't let him have an extra piece of chocolate cake."

"Refusing a guy some dessert? Your dad _is_ a pooh-head."

I roll my eyes. "You realize you made a biblical reference about five minutes ago, right?" I ask.

"I am Catholic, Breezy," Donnie reminds me. "A lapsed on, but a Catholic nonetheless. There were times I didn't fall asleep during Sunday mass."

"You mentioned how you'd die for me and Collin. Well Jesus died for all of us and God did give his only son…"

"So now you're comparing me to the big guy upstairs?" Donnie grins. "Well come to think of it, you did call me God about a half a dozen times today when we were…"

"Leave it to you to let your perverted mind ruin a good moment!" I cry, and then laugh as he reaches out, captures my hips in his hands and yanks me into him. "You can be such a tool!" I exclaim, smiling against his lips when he covers them with his own in a long, slow kiss.

"But you love me," he says, nuzzling my ear with the tip of his nose as his arms circle my waist.

"Always," I confirm, and snuggle my head into his chest. God…the way I love this man is simply indescribable. He is everything that I've always wanted; from the time I was a fourteen year old girl falling head over heels for the very first time. He's strong and confidant; in turn his mere presence and embrace bring out those same characteristics in me. And once kiss, one touch makes me weak in my knees and my heart feel as if it's going to leap straight out of my chest. In some ways, I feel like that wholesome, naïve teenager again; overwhelmed by the complexity and power of my feelings for him. And I feel dizzy and giddy as I breathe in deeply; assaulting my senses with his masculine scent. "Mmmm…" I tilt my head back and smile up at him. At _my_ fiancé. "You smell yummy, Detective Flack."

He gives me that dimpled grin; then renders me breathless with a sizzling kiss.

"Remember when we used to come here all the time?" he asks, as he steps alongside of me once more and leaves a hand on the small of my back as I curl my arm around his waist and we continue down the beach.

We'd had a phenomenal meal at a local fine dining seafood establishment he'd taken me to for my eighteenth birthday, and we'd shared a bottle of red wine and a massive piece of caramel cheesecake after our entrees. It had been Donnie's idea to take a walk along the beach; we used to drive all the way to Far Rockaway for some alone time when we were teens. He'd always prided himself on how romantic it was; especially at sunset.

"I think this is where we had some of our best talks," I say, as I hook my index finger through one of the belt loops on his black dress pants. His tie and suit jacket are long gone; stashed in the back seat of his SUV that's still parked in the restaurant lot. His baby blue dress shirt is un-tucked and the sleeves are rolled to his elbows and the top two buttons undone, giving a view of the wife beater he wears underneath.

"Oh a lot more went down on this beach then talking," he grins, as his hand slips up my back and rests on the bare space between my shoulders. My cotton dress is relatively simple; orange sorbet in colour with a halter neck and a longer hemline at the back then at the front. "I think we desecrated just about every lifeguard tower within a two mile radius."

"I never did get my 'From Here To Eternity' moment though," I give a dramatic pout. "I also wanted to play Deborah Kerr to your Burt Lancaster."

"You never know," Donnie says, and I shiver as his fingertips drift across my skin. "We got a lot of years ahead of us, Breezy. I may just indulge you one day."

"I won't hold my breath," I grumble, and then pull away from him. "Do you remember what one of my favourite things to do on the beach was?" I ask, as I bend down to undo the straps on my dressy white sandals.

"I remember a couple of things you seemed to really enjoy," Donnie chuckles, and I roll my eyes and toss my shoes onto the sand.

"I always loved the feel of the wet sand beneath my feet!" I exclaim, and gathering up my dress, lift it to the middle of my calves and hurry into the water. "It's cold!" I shriek; and then giggle at the sensation under my bare feet and between my toes as the water slaps against the back of my legs.

"You're crazy," Donnie declares, an amused smirk on his face. "You're not going to be stripping down anytime soon, are you? 'Cause skinny dipping's an indictable offence in New York State and I'd hate to have to haul you in," he teases.

"I am not going naked in a public place," I assure him.

He gives a disappointed pout.

"But you can use your cuffs later if you want," I give him a wink. "Why don't you come in too?" I ask. "The water feels nice once you get used to it."

"I'll let you have all the fun for now," he says, and I give a shrug and begin wading through the water. Through the corner of my eye I can see Donnie intently watching me, and just as I turn to ask him to come and join me, he's toeing off his own shoes and taking off his socks and rolling his pants up to his knees. "You only live once," he reasons with a shrug, as he makes his way towards me. "Jesus, Breezy!" he cries. "It's freezing! Are you insane?"

"Maybe just a little," I laugh. "But I keep you young, Donnie. And life is never boring with me."

"It's definitely a whole ball of crazy," he says, and then jumps back when I kick water in his direction.

"You love me!" I cry, and then shriek as he bends down and uses both arms to splash me; soaking me from head to toe. "You're mean!" I scold, and scooping up a handful of wet sand, ball it together and toss it at him, catching him square in the shoulder.

"Oh now it's on," he declares, and I give a yelp and take off in a run as he advances on me.

"No!" I screech, as I feel two strong arms wrap around my waist and lift me clear off of my feet. "Don't throw me in! Don't do it!" I struggle in vain; tossing my head from side to side as I laugh hysterically and kick my feet against his legs. "If you throw me in you'll never get lucky again! You'll be spending the rest of your life on the couch!"

"You'd never do it; you'd suffer just as much as I would," Donnie says, and his arms tighten around me and he presses a kiss to the nape of my neck and then to the side of my throat before setting me on my feet.

"I'd never last," I declare, as I turn to face him and wrap my arms around his waist. "Besides, I want to have more babies with you. Lots of them."

"How many is lots?" he asks. "'Cause I'm kinda gunning for a starting line up for a hockey team," he teases, as he curls one arm around me.

"There's no way I'm having half a dozen!" I inform him, and then turning my face sideways to stare out at the brilliant sunset, lay the side of my head against his warm, soothing body. This moment seems so utterly perfect; the sound and the feel of the waves gently lapping against our legs, the smell of the water lingering in the air, the picturesque sunset that could rival anything you'd see in a tropical paradise. But what makes it so amazing goes far beyond our surroundings; it's in the love and affection that exists between us. And the knowledge that against all odds, we've made it this far.

"Breezy…" Donnie begins, as his right hand delves into his pants pocket. I assume it's for his keys; a sign that it's time to go and I sigh heavily and reluctantly pull away from him.

"Way to ruin my one moment of pure heaven," I grumble, and as I attempt to step away, Donnie captures my by the wrist and pulls me back into him.

"I love you," he says, our eyes locked on each other. "I've always loved you; I always will. And I can't believe that after everything we've been through, all the pain and the suffering and the years that came between us, that we found our way back to one another."

"I love you too," I smile up at him; and then sigh contently as he presses his lips against my forehead. I'll forgive him for the corniness; just this once. What woman doesn't want the man of her dreams talking to her like this? Pledging his undying love and devotion? What girl doesn't dream of a moment that is above and beyond all of her wildest dreams?

"Marry me," it comes out as more a statement then a question.

"I already said yes," I giggle. "You don't need to…"

Before I can react, he's dropping to one knee right there in the water; not worrying about how silly he'd look if anyone happened to be passing by or if he ruins his pants. And while it seems a little ridiculous to see him like that, kneeling before me, my left hand in his as those blue eyes look up at me and burrow deep into my soul, to me there's nothing that can possibly be more adorable and wonderful.

"Marry me," Donnie repeats, and the departing sun catches the object he holds in his right hand -clasped tightly between his thumb and forefinger- and causes it to sparkle brilliantly.

I give a sound that's something between a sob and a shriek and cover my mouth with my free hand; tears well up in my eyes and my heart pounds in my chest as I realize exactly what he has in his possession.

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you," he says. "And I wanted to things right by you; I wanted to ask properly. Make it memorable for you. So will you, Bree-Anne? Will you marry me?"

I can't seem to formulate a proper thought, let alone find the strength to actually speak, and I give another squeak and nod; watching through a flood of tears as he slips the ring onto my finger and then kisses the top of my hand with a tenderness that is both beautiful and heartbreaking.

"I just wanted you to have that perfect moment," Donnie says, as he graces the pad of his thumb along each of my fingers. "You deserved that, Breezy."

Taking his face in both of my hands, I cover his lips with mine in a long, slow kiss. I know that he can taste the salt of my tears as they cascade down my cheeks; for once they're tears of happiness and relief. There's no more wondering what if. There's no more punishing myself for all of my mistakes or the choices I'd felt forced to make. It's all quickly evaporating; all the regrets and the shame drifting away on those waves that lap against us. That one kiss symbolizes so much; farewell to the past, hello to the future.

I pull away first, breathless from both the kiss and the excitement of the moment; and my eyes search his as my fingertips explore every inch of his face.

"You're everything I've ever wanted," I whisper. "Every perfect moment rolled into one. And I don't deserve you…not after everything I've done to you."

"None of that matters anymore," Donnie says, and kisses me softly. "All that matters is the future now; the past is just that, Bree-Anne. The past."

I nod and sniffle noisily. Then seizing my opportunity, a mischievous, devilish grin spreads across my face, and laying my hands on his shoulders, I catch Donnie off guard and shove him backwards into the surf. And he stares up at me in a mixture of horror, surprise and amusement as I climb on top of him, placing a knee on either side of his body.

"Are you mental?" he asks, as his hands fall on my hips. "You are seriously mental."

"I am just crazy in love," I declare with a giggle, and kissing him aggressively, force his head down into the wet sand. "I told you I wanted my 'From Here to Eternity' moment," I grin, and run my hands along his shoulders and down his chest.

"Actually," he says, and sitting up quickly, gently deposits me onto my back before covering my body with his. "I think it went more like this," and with that he leans down and captures my mouth in an intense kiss.

This night can't possibly get any better.

Life can't either.

xxxxxxxx

"_Well I know there's a reason, and I know there's a rhyme. We were meant to be together and that's why: We can roll with the punches, we can stroll hand in hand. And when I say it's forever, you understand. That you're always in my heart, always on my mind, and when it all becomes to much, you're never far behind. And there's no one that comes close to you, could ever take your place. 'Cause only you can love me this way."_

"This is our wedding song," I decide, as Donnie and I dance -by candlelight- in the middle of his living room. All of the furniture long shoved aside, both of us in sweats and our bare feet -I'm standing on the top of his so I can adequately curly my arms around his neck- as Keith Urban plays on the stereo.

Outside a raging thunderstorm rocks the city; the wind rattles the windows as rain hammers down. We'd just managed to slip through the door of the apartment an hour ago when the wrath of God had been unleashed on the city. We'd taken it with a grain of salt; uncorking the bottle of celebratory champagne we'd picked up on our way home before shedding our clothes and retreating to the bathroom where a bubble bath turned more steamy then either of us had anticipated. And now we dance -completely my idea and not without a lot of complaining on his part- and lose ourselves completely in the wonderful cocoon of bliss that's enveloped us all evening.

"We actually have to have country music?" Donnie grumbles, as he moves his hands from my sides to the small of his back. "We have to have Kenny Chesney yodeling about…"

"It's Keith Urban!" I pinch the back of his neck as a form of scolding. "My second husband," I add.

"Second husband, huh?" he grins. "Does Nicole Kidman know about that?"

"She's tolerant," I laugh, "Just like you will be for all the famous husbands that I come with."

"How many are there?" Donnie asks.

"Hmmm…" I make a list in my head. "There's Derek Jeter, Nick Swisher, Henrik Lundqvist…"

"Two Yankees?" he grimaces. "No Mets?"

I shake my head.

"Well at least you tossed in a Ranger at the end there."

"Then there's Ben Roethlisberger, Sidney Crosby…"

Donnie grimaces. "You got a thing for Pittsburgh teams or something?"

"And that guy Max Talbot that scored the two goals in game seven when the Pens won the cup," I continue.

"You're a fan girl," Donnie declares. "I bet you're the obsessive, squealing type too. That you're going to make me get satellite television so that you can check out all your boyfriends."

I bit my bottom lip and give a nod. "I have a Crosby jersey too," I admit. "One of the baby blue ones from the winter classic. And a Stanley Cup champions t-shirt like they wore in the locker rooms."

"Just as long as you don't start stalking the poor kid," Donnie says, and I giggle as he dips me at the end of the song. "I'm sure he'd find you as hot as hell, but he wouldn't know what to do with you."

"I'd school him," I declare, and then laugh against Donnie's lips as he kisses me before returning me upright. "Oh! I forgot about my slightly obsessive love for Chace Crawford!" I cry, as my fiancé picks up our wine glasses and holds mine out to me. "You're going to be watching a lot of Gossip Girl, I'm afraid."

"Small price to pay for getting to spend the rest of my life with you," he declares, and I give him a wink and plop down on the couch and sip my champagne.

"And you know what?" he asks, as he takes a seat beside me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. "That song we were just dancing to?"

I nod in confirmation.

"It's perfect; sounds just like me and you. And if that's what you want as our first dance, then we'll have it."

I grin victoriously and press a kiss to his cheek. "We're really going to have to start planning," I sigh, as I lean my head against Donnie's shoulder. "There's not a lot of time but there's a lot to get down. We need to pick flowers, make a guest list, choose a menu, select a…"

He dips his head and silences me with a kiss. "We'll start all of that tomorrow," he says, then leans his head back against the couch and closes his eyes. "Right now, let's just…I don't know…let's just sit here and not think about anything. Let's just…be together."

I nod in agreement and place a kiss on the underside of his chin before turning sideways and snuggling into him, my head on his chest and my hand resting on his stomach. My eyes close as his hand rests on the top of my head and his fingers begin combing through my hair.

It's something so simple, yet to me seems so loving and soothing considering who it's coming from.

And just like the song says, only he can love me this way.

"I want to have another baby," I announce suddenly, and I glance up at Donnie just as his eyes snap open and he looks down at me.

"Like right now?" he asks.

"Well not right this second," I reply with a giggle. "I mean as soon as possible. Collin's going to be three and it would be nice if he had a sibling nice and close in age."

"But you want to try right now," Donnie says. "Like as in you don't want to use anymore birth control? Of any kind?"

"I want us to have more kids," I tell him. "And I want us to start adding to our family. Don't you want a baby, Donnie? Wouldn't it be nice to have one?"

"I never thought of having one this soon," he admits. "But…yeah…it would be nice to have one. To go through everything with you. I didn't get the chance the first time and I…" his voice trails off; afraid he's offended me.

"That's the one thing I regret the most," I sigh. "That you didn't get to go through the pregnancy and his birth. The entire two and a half years of his life. And if I could go back in time and change things, I would. I'm sorry for that, Donnie. For robbing you of all of that."

"We'll have other chances, Breezy. I'll have other chances. It's not like we'll never have other kids."

"Wouldn't you like to have one soon?" I ask, as I rub his stomach softly. "I know it takes nine months, but wouldn't you like a baby ASAP?"

He nods, and then grins broadly. "A little girl," he says. "Your red hair and my blue eyes; beautiful like her mommy."

I smile and melt into his body and kiss.

"You know what the best part of having babies is?" he asks, as he tugs playfully on my ponytail.

I shake my head.

"The actual baby making," he says, and then chuckles as I pinch his side.

"Why am I not surprised you would come out with that?" I ask, as I sit up. "That's such a Donnie Flack thing to say."

"It is the most fun part," he reasons, as he twists my hair around his hand. "I mean, we seem to have a lot of fun when it comes to fornicating."

"Fornicating!" I laugh hysterically. "My grandmother uses that word!"

"Both your grandmothers are dead," he points out.

"My point exactly on how old that word is," I say. "I can't believe you'd use a word like…"

I'm silenced as he yanks me into him by the hair and seizes my mouth in a mind numbing, toe curling kiss.

"I think we should get started on that whole baby making thing," he says after the moment has ended, leaving me with my eyes closed and my head spinning. "On the whole, _procreating_."

I giggle as his lips descend on the side of my throat, and I tunnel my fingers in his hair and sigh as one of his fingers pulled the neck of my t-shirt to the side and his teeth skim along my collarbone. "You know what I think?" I ask, startling him as I push him away and jump to my feet.

He shakes his head, as I grab a hold of his hand and yank him to his feet.

"That would should get fornicating or whatever the hell it's called right now!" I cry, and pull him towards the bedroom.

"I always did like it when you got all bossy," he chuckles.

"Get your ass in there," I order, and placing my hands on his shoulders, shove him backwards through the open bedroom door. "Let's just see who ends up handcuffed to the bed at the end of this night."

"Use me and abuse me," he says, as I kick the door closed behind me. And as the back of his knees hit the bed, push him onto his back before climbing on top of him.

"I don't think you can handle this," I declare, as I yank the his t-shirt up; exposing his chest to me eager and greedy mouth.

"Well see about that," he says, and then gives a heavy sigh and a shudder as my lips and tongue travel all the way own to the drawstring on his sweats.

"Yes, we will," I assure him.

Then go about showing him how determined I am to keep that promise.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and even just lurking! Please R and R folks!**

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**You Can't Rush Science**


	32. Some People Change

**DISCLAIMER: SAME AS THE OTHER CHAPTERS**

* * *

**Some People Change**

"Here's to the strong; thanks to the brave.  
Don't give up hope: some people change.  
Against all odds, against the grain,  
Love finds a way: some people change.

Thank God for those who make it:  
Let them be the Light."  
-Some People Change, Montgomery Gentry

* * *

_**Breezy's POV**_

"_It's like falling in love for the first time, it's like waking up fresh in the sunshine, like having nothing to lose, baby you're good news, you're good news. It's like dancing all night till the light's gone, it's like singing along to your favourite song. It never gets old with you, baby you're good news, you're good news. Now if you love something you just gotta let it go, if it comes back it's yours and it means that much more."_

As the full weight of the last sentence of Matt Dusks' song, 'Good News' hits home, I scramble to my feet in the middle of Donnie's now empty spare room and scurry over to window sill where I earlier sat my Wedding Planning For Dummies book and a pen. I've been getting random ideas all morning and into the early afternoon; mostly due to the mixed, homemade CD of modern and retro love songs that I've been listening to while finishing last minute chores in Collin's new bedroom. It's been a week since the moment on the beach and I still feeling as if I'm walking on clouds; there's nothing that can tarnish the amazing mood that I've been in since I'd officially become engaged. The ring had served to hammer home the enormity of the situation. Just saying the words, 'we're engaged' or 'I'm getting married' hadn't seemed to make it 'feel' real; having the proof sitting on my finger had cemented the fact that I'm going to be someone's wife. I'm going to be pledging always and forever, to death do we part, to the love of my life. We were going to be a family; I was going to have more babies and be a mommy again. Things had come full circle; I feel like that giddy fourteen year old in love for the very first time. Overwhelmed by both the depth of love I feel for Donnie, and the realization that someone as incredible as him can love someone like me.

We had let each other go. Twice. And both times, it had hurt like a bitch and had nearly destroyed us. Yet somehow, we've always managed to find our way back to one another. As if some beacon, burning bright but invisible to the naked eye, keeps guiding us home.

And that's the kind of love that is worth writing about. Worth celebrating. And I flip my planner to the back section designated for taking notes and using my teeth to yank the cap off of the pen, hastily write down the lyric of the Matt Dusk song so I can refer to it during my vows. It had been Donnie's idea to include our own personal touches on what is scheduled to be half an hour ceremony; he likes the idea of being able to say a few words on top of the traditional vows that will be read by an NYPD chaplain. Father O'Shea, who has been the priest at the church Donnie and I had both attended when we were younger and had also baptised all the Flack and Douglas kids, had politely refused to do the ceremony. I was divorced after all; something that wasn't taken lightly by the church. And to make matters worse, I'd had an affair during my first marriage and had conceived a baby with a man who wasn't my husband. I'd fucked up in their eyes; I could be held under the holy water until I was in danger of drowning and it wouldn't make a lick of difference as far as the church was concerned.

It hurts a little to think that I was being shunned that badly; I don't consider myself an evil person. Sure, I hadn't made the smartest decisions when it came to certain aspects of my life, but everything that I'd done had been in the best interests of other people. I will do whatever it takes to protect the two people that I love more than anything in this world; if keeping them safe meant causing myself the same agony that I'd suffered through following Dean's trial, I would do it again in a heartbeat. I'd been brought up under the fundamental belief that we should love everyone and except those who are unique and have vast differences from us. That God forgives everyone. So why is when I've made a couple missteps I'm alienated? Why do such startling double standards exist? Is it only certain people and certain sins that are forgiven? Or is it the embarrassment that I've caused my family that makes it so hard for people to look past what I'd done?

Donnie had shrugged off the church's shun; if they didn't want us, that was their goddamn loss as far as he was concerned. His dad in turn had called in a favour to an old friend in the department; Reverend James Bishop was the longest serving chaplain in NYPD history and had narrowly escaped death on September 11th when the North Tower had collapsed while he was on the concourse level delivering last rights to a horrifically injured firefighter. He'd readily and happily agreed to perform the ceremony, and Donnie had jumped at the suggestion of both of us saying at little something after the normal vows and readings. I'd looked at him as if he was crazy; not only was it a total girl thing and completely out of character for him, but I've never been one for public speaking. I don't know his friends well enough to be comfortable making myself an emotional basket case in front of them, and I know that I'm never going to be able to hold it together with just regular vows. I've waited so long for this moment, gone so long without him; tears are just going to be part of the main event. I don't want to intentionally make it worse for myself.

Tapping the end of the pen against my lips, my eyes wander over the collection of notes, in various coloured ink, that litter the inside of my planner. Carefully and meticulously written details and plans regarding the ceremony are scrawled in different shades of ink on every available inch of the back pages. And there's a sticky note with the time and date of my 'by appointment' fitting at a high end vintage store Bianca was a regular out, along with a picture of the wedding dress I've got my hopes set on -a vintage cream chiffon, satin underlay gown with a dramatic train and scooped back, inspired by the original worn by Jean Harlow. I'd done the traditional white dress and headpiece when I'd married Dean; this time I'm looking for something that's more _me. _A little bit of sexy mixed in with a whole lot of grace; that's how I like to see myself. And this dress…it's everything I'd wanted the first time around and had regretfully turned away from to make my parents, and Dean, happy. They'd all been dying for me to do the whole 'pure and angelic virgin in white' despite the fact I'd been anything but; I'd simply gone along with the 'whole ball gown, cathedral length train, veil over my face' to shut them all up.

The whole wedding-the outrageous amount of guests, the elaborate reception, the ceremony held in the famed St. Patrick's Cathedral as opposed to our regular congregation- had been to please everyone else but myself. I had tried to convince myself that I'd been marrying Dean for all of the right reasons; that I loved him and wanted to have a family with him and spend forever as his wife. It hadn't taken me very long to realize that I'd only been fooling myself; I'd married him in a vain attempt to move on with my life and forget about who I really wanted to be with.

I push all thoughts of Dean, and the eventual visit I'll have to pay him in an attempt to get him to sign away his rights to Collin and his signature and permission to amend the birth certificate, out of my mind and turn my attention back to my notes. For the most part, the planning is right on track; it's all I've been able to focus on for the past week since I've become engaged. The next nine weeks are going to fly by, and thankfully, I've already got the flowers picked that I want, the guest list finalized and the menu and decorative style of the quaint reception sorted out. Bianca has been a huge help; despite her eccentric, sometimes garish personal style and personality, my best friend has exceptional taste and plans and hosts the most incredible parties. The entire ordeal is both stressful and exhilarating; I can't keep the smile off of my face or stop the happiness from bubbling out of me every chance it gets. Unlike the first time around, I'm revelling in the warm, wonderful glow physical and emotional glow that comes with the title of 'bride to be'.

Capping the pen, I lay it between the pages of my planner and close the book; returning it to the window ledge before going back to my current task of painting the baseboards white. Donnie had removed them three days ago and they now lay on sheets of newspaper spread across the bedroom floor. He's already painted three of the walls yellow and one of them black; the latter bearing a scattering of Pittsburgh Penguins posters he'd found at a sports store in midtown. A black roller shade covers the window and a light fixture that resemblances an arena scoreboard dangles from the ceiling. Collin's brand new bed, dresser and toy chest remain in their boxes in the crowded living room. He had made a stink over what kind of bed he'd wanted; he refused to allow us to buy him a toddler one because "that's a baby bed and I'm not a baby!" and instead we'd found him a black wood twin captain's bed. After a week of sleeping in his nest in the living room, he was anxious for us to get his room completed. Once I finish the baseboards, Donnie will re-attach them to the walls and we'll hopefully find the time to put all the furniture together.

Hunkering down onto my knees, I pick up the paintbrush resting on the paper and swipe it through the plastic tray of white paint. I'm not surprised that once I'd moved myself and Collin in, I'd no intentions on ever leaving again. I know that when Donnie had offered to open his place to us I had originally called it a temporary solution until my parents returned from their holidays, but by the second day here, we'd agreed to make it a permanent arrangement. We've already spent way too much time apart; there's no need to torture ourselves any longer.

I'm sure my parents will have plenty to say to me and argue with me about when I travel into Queens later in the afternoon to talk to them. They've been back from their trip for two days now, and the only contact I've had with either of them was a terse conversation with my mother about when I could come and see them. Technically Collin and I still love there, and while I understand both my mom's concern and annoyance -I hadn't handled things properly by telling them about Donnie through a voice mail- I certainly don't deserve to be treated like I have the plague. Having to make an appointment to tell them about the wedding and to pick up more of mine and Collin's things? There's just no need for grown adults to be acting like that.

Right now however, I'm revelling in having the apartment to myself for a little while. Father and son have taken a trip into midtown; armed with the catalogue from Weinstein's Bakery that Bianca had brought over the afternoon before. Last night in bed, I'd gone through it page by page and had circled every style and theme wedding cake that appealed to me, and had jotted down a list of the different flavour combinations that sounded delicious. Then I'd flipped the book closed, laid it on my fiancé's stomach as he watched ESPN beside me. I'd given him a sugary sweet smile -the one that also got me everything I wanted from him-, kissed his cheek in goodnight, and then had told him to have fun picking a cake with our son the next day before rolling over, turning out the lamp on the nightstand beside me and bedding down for the night.

While I miss my boys when they're not around, it's nice to have some peace and quiet. There's no one to pick up after, nag at to remember to put the toilet seat down, listen to whine about being hungry and wanting me to make them something. Grown men are mysterious creatures. Donnie has been living on his own since he was eighteen; nearly seventeen years of doing his own laundry, cleaning up after himself, preparing his own meals. Yet I move in and every ounce of domesticity completely abandons him. He seems to love having someone to take care of him and come home to at the end of the day, and deep down, despite my complaining, I like having someone need me. Someone that compliments me on little changes I've made around the apartment, who praises me about my cooking even when it's terrible, and always tells me how beautiful I am. We're not a perfect couple; we've got enough issues and emotional baggage between us to last all five boroughs. But we love each other. And that has to count for something.

Finishing the last baseboard, I drop the brush into the paint tray and sitting back on my heels, use the front of my pink, purple and white chequered tank top to wipe the sweat, and wayward specks of paint, off of my face. This summer definitely has to be one of the worst in my entire thirty-four years. The city's been in the midst of a horrific heat wave for just shy of a month; the humidity is damn near insufferable and every New York City resident has been begging and pleading for some much needed relief. The fact that there's no air conditioning in the apartment isn't making things any better; we're surviving with fans and a lot of cold showers. Luna seems to be the happiest out of us all; she's enjoying sleeping in the bathroom on the cool tiles and loves the addition of ice cubes to her bowls of water and the towels that Donnie puts in the freezer before bed every night and then places in various spots around the apartment before he leaves for work.

I need a shower; not only am I hot and sweaty, but I'm probably the messiest painter on the face of the earth and there are streaks and smudges on nearly every available inch of uncovered skin. My plan before I have to be out of the house to make my way to my parents' is to clean myself up, devour some of the pitcher of iced tea that's in the fridge, and have a couple of lazy hours of either lounging in front of the television or catching some extra sleep. 'Me time' is rare when you're a mother; I take every opportunity that arises and use it to my advantage.

Straightening the handkerchief that I wear on my head to keep my hair off of my forehead, I flip both of my braided pigtails over my shoulders and then getting to my feet, stifle a yawn behind my hand as I journey out of the bedroom and head for the kitchen; anxious to get something cold to drink into my system. And I don't have a foot into the living room when a loud knock at the airport door derails my plans.

* * *

"Coming!" I call, and as I head through the apartment, I take the knot out of the front of my tank top; I don't want to be showing off my stomach and my navel ring if it happens to be the superintendent coming to finally take a look at the busted central air system. I'm sure I look like a complete fright; the scarf on my head, the pigtails, the ratty tank top and tattered jean shorts and my feet bare and paint smeared across various parts of my body. "Did you not just hear me!" I shout in the direction of the door, when the knocking becomes more aggressive. "I can only go so fast! Keep your damn pants on!"

"I'll keep mine on if a pretty little thing like you take yours off," a deep voice -tinged with a Queens accent- retorts. And I roll my eyes as I snap open the deadbolt, slide the chain across and yank the door open.

"Charming," I mutter, as I hold the door open with a hip and smirk up at Chris Flack as he stands on the threshold, a hand on either side of the doorframe and a grin on his face as he looks down at me.

Both brothers have inherited their father's height, broad shoulders and his intimidating presence. They also share the same dimpled smile and the sharp wit and penchant for cutting sarcasm; not to mention popularity with the ladies. The last time I'd seen Chris had been my first summer home from college; he was a towering, sixteen year old smart ass as opposed to the short, scrawny and annoying little brother that used to follow Donnie and I around all the time when we dated through high school. I had heard through my parents that he'd joined the FDNY straight out of high school and had taken a full time position in Staten Island; where he'd met a nice girl and had settled down and had himself a couple of kids.

"Well what do we have here…" Chris drawls, as he surveys me from head to toe; taking in the jean shorts, handkerchief and tank top. Unlike Donnie, their sister Sam and their father, Chris has their mother's coffee brown eyes. "Did I just step into an episode of Hee-Haw?"

"You're still a very white and very unfunny version of Chris Tucker," I retort, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

"And you're still the cute little Christian girl," he nods at the cross around my neck. "You know, I ran over here as fast as I could once I heard Nuns R Us were having a huge ass black and white sale."

I feel my lips twitch; Chris' eyes are locked on mine and neither of us feel like caving in first. Finally, after several tense minutes, I finally crack; I give an embarrassing snort that causes my cheeks to flush in humiliation and Chris to burst into laughter and then I find myself being drawn into his strong embrace.

"Long time no see," he says, as I stand on my tiptoes to curl my arms around his neck and return the hug.

"Too long," I tell him, and he kisses both of my cheeks before I place my feet flat on the ground once again.

"You look good," his eyes sweep over me and he gives a nod of approval. "You're not little Bree-Anne Douglas anymore, huh? You seem to have…" he stares at my chest. "…sprouted."

"And you've only managed to stay a complete pain in the ass with the shittiest sense of humour on the face of the earth!" I laugh, and slap his chest. "What are you doing here?" I ask, as I step back from the door and holding it open, motion for him to come inside.

"Finally caught a day off that coincided with a day the wife was taking the kids to see her folks in Long Island," Chris replies, as he steps into the foyer and toes off his runners. "I got Junior's email a few days ago; something about you and him getting married and me having a nephew. I thought for sure that he'd finally gone nuts; thought I'd come and check it out for myself. Make sure he's not sitting around in his underwear with thousands of empty of JD bottles scattered around the place and about fifty cats."

"I assure you, your brother is perfectly sane," I say. "Or at least on his way to it."

"Yeah…he was freaking us out for awhile there," Chris admits. "We were wondering when the hell he was going to straighten himself out; Jess' death hit him pretty hard. I don't know how much you know about what he was like afterwards but…"

"I know enough," I sigh. "Like how he developed close friendships with Jack and Jose and warmed more than a few beds in each borough."

"Surprised he told you all of that; but Junior always one for honesty when the two of you were together. That whole, open book policy you guys had going on. I seriously did think he was nuts, you know. I mean, it's been almost four years since he'd last seen you and all of a sudden, I'm getting this messed up message about a wedding and a nephew and you shacking up with him. Totally Twilight Zone material."

"It's a little surreal," I admit. "Things are happening really, really quickly and it seems like we barely have time to catch our breath, but…" I give a shrug and a broad smile. "We're happy. We're back together and we're happy and we're finally getting our happily ever after. Too many years too late; but it's finally happening."

"Well if there was ever two people that were destined to be together, it's the two of you," Chris says with a smile, and reaches out to clear a smudge of paint off of my cheek with the pad of his thumb. "Kind of blows my whole 'there's no such thing as true, undying, movie romance type love' out of the water. Finding each other after everything you've both been through? Don't hear of something like that happening everyday."

"Your brother actually found me," I tell him, as Chris follows me into the kitchen. "He actually showed up on my door step; completely out of the blue. I don't know what made him show up or why he had felt like he'd needed to see me badly…"

"Hey…weren't we taught in Sunday school to never question the great mysteries of life?" Chris asks with a grin. "Something about how not everything has an explanation and we shouldn't question or expect an answer?"

I grin at him over my shoulder as I pull open the fridge and remove the pitcher of iced tea. "So there were times where you weren't blowing spit balls at the back of Sister Margaret's head or dropping cherry bombs down the toilets," I tease, as I close the refrigerator door with my hip and Chris grabs two glasses from the drain board by the sink.

"I'll let you know that all those times I was an evil shit? I was merely following in my brother's footsteps. He was my hero; I just went along for the ride. I'll cop to the spitballs, but the cherry bombs were entirely his idea and he acted alone. So if anyone is going to hell in a hand basket…"

"I think we long ago established that your brother was the worst possible role model," I say, and both Chris and I laugh.

"He was a first class shit head when we were growing up," Chris declares, and nods his thanks as I fill his glass. "Always getting me into a world of trouble."

"And you were always willingly following behind," I point out, then pour iced tea into my own cup. "When he told you to jump, you asked how high. You idolized him."

"I did," Chris smiles down at the drink in his hand. "You know, it's kind of funny. He was always getting me into a world of hurt yet whenever I managed to wander into some all on my own, he was the first person there to bail me out; always there to stick up for me. I can't even count the number of times he got in the middle of things when our old man tried to lay the beats down on me. Junior always knew he'd get it ten times worse for defending me, but he always did it no questions asked."

"He wanted to protect you," I say, as I sip my drink and lean back against the counter behind me. "He's your brother; he wouldn't have been able to live with himself if he didn't do whatever it took to keep you safe."

"He was always there for me when I needed someone," Chris says. "Even when we grew up and I got into trouble with the booze and was hauled in a couple times by the badges. He wasn't happy and he was disappointed in me and I'm sure he was damn embarrassed on top of it, but he always came and vouched for me and got me out of there. I'm sure it probably irritates the shit out of him; Sam and me being such fuck ups."

"I don't think it irritates him," I say. "I think it hurts him more than anything. You've turned yourself around from what Donnie's told me and I know he's proud of you. But Sam…" I sigh heavily. "I know it tears him up inside to see what she's like. And I know he says he's washed his hands of her, but deep down it's killing him to not be able to just jump in and save her."

"Some people you just can't save," Chris reasons. "Junior's always had it in his head that he needs to solve the world's problems; thinks he's somehow to blame for everything that goes wrong with someone he loves. He needs to realize that Sammie…well Sammie can't be saved. You can't help someone that won't help themselves, right?"

"I suppose…" I tap the band of my engagement ring against the side of my glass. "But he's a stubborn bastard and you can tell him all of this until you're blue in the face. When he sets his mind to something, there's no reasoning with him."

"He's a tenacious shit," Chris agrees, and then playfully nudges my arm with his elbow. "Guess it explains how he managed to get you back after so long."

"As much as I'd like to say I really made him work at it, I'm afraid I caved in pretty quickly," I smirk. "I've always been a sucker for his pretty blue eyes."

"Oh something tells me it goes a little deeper than that," my future brother in law gives one of my pigtails a light tug. "It's not just a nice pair of baby blues that keep you coming back for more. He's either got some crazy, unexplainable hold on you or you're just a glutton for punishment."

"That is absolutely it," I laugh, and a companionable silence descends on the kitchen. The only sounds in the apartment the music playing faintly on the radio in the spare bedroom, the incessant, annoying drip of the kitchen tap and the clink of the ice in our drinks against our glasses.

* * *

"So I take it my charming, irresistible, shit of an older brother isn't home at the moment," Chris comments. "My mom said it was his day off today so I thought I'd come by and surprise him."

"He actually took Collin out for the day," I say. "I sent them wedding cake shopping; it's their one and only responsibility for the wedding. Apparently they're going to make a day of it; go to the Children's Zoo in Central Park, have McDonald's for lunch, visit some people at Donnie's work…"

"More like the proud papa wants to show his boy off to anyone and everyone that shows even the slightest bit of interest," Chris grins. "Dad was saying that Junior's just over the moon about being a daddy; that he's taking to it like an old pro."

"He's amazing," I can't stop the grin from spreading across my face. "There was no hesitation on his part; he just jumped right in and hasn't looked back since. They're inseparable; I couldn't have dreamed of a better ending for the past four years of my life. Donnie didn't have to assume any responsibility for Collin after what I did. I kept his son from him for the past three years and he has every right to hate me and not want anything to do with either of us."

"Come on, did you actually think my brother would turn his back on the two of you once he found out about all of this? That's his boy; his flesh and blood. And you…" Chris shakes his head. "…he's been in love with you since he was fourteen years old. He's never stopped loving you; everything that came after was a substitute 'cause he didn't think he'd ever be with you again. And from what my folks told me, you did what you felt you had to do to protect your son _and_ my brother. And that takes a hell of a lot of guts. Don't you ever let anyone tell you anything different."

"But it's three years we can't get back," I say. "Collin's nearly three and Donnie's missed so much. Your entire family has missed so much."

"Three years is nothing in the grand scheme of things," Chris tells me. "That little guy has a whole life ahead of him, Bree-Anne. And his dad is going to be in it until the very end; just like me and my parents. You have any idea how excited they are? About having a grandkid? About Junior having an offspring? It's all they can talk about. And it's totally turned my dad around; I barely even recognize him anymore. Amazing, don't you think? How a little kid can turn someone like that right around? Ask me, you and Collin coming back into Donnie's life? No matter how it happened or who made the first move? Well it hasn't just transformed my brother for the better, it's changed all of us. Things happen for a reason; I have to believe that."

"Collin was the only good thing that came out of the huge mess we made out of our lives back then," I declare.

"And from what I hear, he's incredible. My parents just go on and on and on about the little guy; how smart he is, how much he looks like my brother. I was really hoping to meet him. And to give his dad these…" Chris reaches around and pulls a crinkled white envelope out of the back pocket of his cargo shorts. "One of my work buddies scored some tickets to the Mets versus the Phillies next weekend an seeing as he can't make it, I was hoping maybe I could convince my brother to hang with me for the day. And bring that adorable nephew of mine along."

"I'm sure they'd both love it," I say with a smile. "Collin loves the Mets."

"And the Pittsburgh Penguins from what I heard," Chris rolls his eyes. "Don't tell me you've brainwashed the kid already and turned him into a Cry-baby fan. Sorry…I mean a Crosby fan."

"You're just pissed the Rangers totally suck ass and didn't even get anywhere near the finals two years in a row," I laugh. "But yes…I have a slightly disturbing fan girl crush on Sid the Kid."

"Shameful…" Chris declares. "Just damn shameful. And here I was thinking you had better taste than that. You couldn't have a crush on someone like…" his words trail off as the sound of paws scampering across hardwood and the jingling off tags on a dog collar interrupt him. "And now who would this be?" he asks, as Luna rushes into the kitchen, and setting his glass and the baseball tickets on the counter, Chris drops to one knee and tousles the rambunctious puppy's ears.

"That's Luna," I reply. "My dad bought him for Collin a little while ago; she's almost three months."

"Beautiful dog," Chris praises, chuckling as the puppy plops down onto the tiles and rolls over onto her back; legs spread as she waits for him to scratch her tummy. "This is all kinda surreal," he says, as he obliges Luna. "Donnie's gone from needing an intervention to having a fiancée, a kid and a puppy. Next thing you'll know he'll be buying himself a mini van and moving you guys into a nice little house."

"He'd kill you if he ever heard the mini van comment," I say. "But you're right about the nice little house part; he's already talking about it."

"He never did do things half assed," Chris concludes. "When Junior wants something, to hell with anyone or anyone standing in his way. I'm just glad he's turning himself around; we were all really worried about him there for a while. After…well…you know…" his voice trails off.

"After Jessica Angell was murdered," I finish for him, and he nods.

"He took it really bad," Chris says. "It was hard seeing him like that; watching him sink further and further into whatever black, bottomless pit had sucked him in. He was always the strong one, the guy we all went to when we needed help or there was a problem we needed to work out. Donnie wasn't supposed to be that way. He wasn't supposed to be the one that was suffering. He didn't _deserve_ to be the one that was suffering. And you know what he's like Bree-Anne; he'd never let anyone know how bad he was dealing with things."

"Asking for help doesn't come easy to your brother," I reason. "Actually, it doesn't come to him at all. He's always been like that; he's never going to change. He hates feeling like he's a burden to everyone. And he blames himself for a lot of things that happened; he's haunted by the things he saw. I guess he just thought that he didn't want to bother anyone with his problems so he kept them to himself."

"I'm just glad that he's coming around," Chris says, as he finishes showering Luna with attention and stands up. "I was worried that it would never happen. That he'd just keep slipping away from us and we'd never get him back. Last few months he's been working at getting his shit together but now that you and Collin are around…well my folks say they've never seen him so happy. That he's smiling and laughing all the time now; that he's a completely different person."

"I think he was just ready to heal," I shrug. "I think it was his time and it would have happened whether he'd come to my house that day or not."

"Don't sell yourself short," Chris says. "You and Collin being in his life? You guys have given him something to look forward to; a purpose. Now he's got two people that are counting on him to pull his head out of his ass and fix himself before it's too late. And trust me, he'll do anything for you, Bree-Anne. Don't ever doubt that, okay?" he lays a gentle hand on the top of my head. "You've been my brother's be all and end all since he was fourteen; a couple of little hiatuses would never make him stop loving you."

"A couple of little hiatuses and a whole lot of huge secrets and lies," I say, and down the remains of my iced tea.

"So you're going to punish yourself for the rest of your life?" Chris asks. "You're going to hold it over your own head for the next forty, fifty, sixty years? Because my brother isn't holding any grudges and he sure as hell doesn't have any regrets. He doesn't blame you Bree-Anne; he doesn't hate you for doing what you did. You know what's really going on here? Who's doing all the blaming? You. You blame yourself and you hate yourself for what you did."

I don't respond.

"You guys will never have your whole happily ever after if you don't put the past behind you," he continues. "My parents forgive you, Donnie forgives you…don't you think it's time to forgive yourself?"

"It's hard," I say, in a voice barely above a whisper. "It's hard to justify what I did; to defend myself and the choices I made."

"No one is asking you to defend yourself and you shouldn't even feel the need to," Chris tells me. "You did what you felt was best for your son and my brother. Plain and simple. And anyone who judges you for that? Well they need to take a good, long look in the mirror and think about the choices they've made. No one goes through life unscathed; we all fuck up at some point in time. It's letting ourselves learn from it and forgive ourselves for it that's the most important."

I nod slowly, then crack a slight smile. "What is it with you Flack men all of a sudden? When did you and your brother become so wise and deep?"

"We're more than just pretty faces," Chris chuckles, and once again tugs playfully at one of my pigtails. "We're studies in contradiction."

"You can say that again," I laugh.

"You know what else I am at this very moment?" Chris asks. "Starving. So how about you go and clean your cute self up and your soon to be brother in law will take you out for lunch."

"I've got a lot to do still," I sigh. "And I'm supposed to head into Queens later to see my parents and…"

"And I'm heading back to have supper with mine and I'll drop you off at your folks'," Chris tells me, and laying his hands on my shoulder, gently pushes me in the direction of the living room. "Go and take a shower and I'll treat you to lunch and make sure you get to Flushing in one piece."

"You just don't take no for an answer, do you," I state, pausing in the doorway.

"It's a Flack trait," he says with a shrug. "Strong genes. Too bad you picked the wrong brother though."

I roll my eyes. "You used to gross me out by picking your nose and eating it," I remind him. "And making those farting noises using your armpits."

"That was my attempt at charming you," Chris grins. "But no. Big brother just had to get to you first."

"Don't feel too bad," I say, as I turn on my heel and head into the living room. "Your brother's been stiff competition for every man that came after him."

"All those other poor bastards never stood a chance," Chris sighs.

I can't help but smile; it's the truth and I can't deny it. Everyone that's been in my life since Donnie -even after our first break up as teenager- has unknowingly been in competition with him. No other man has ever been able to touch me as profoundly and deeply as he can; no one has ever made me feel so loved, adored and respected.

And it's not just suitors that never stood a chance in regards to him.

But my heart as well.

* * *

**Sorry this took so long to get out! The muse needed a little vacation after H1N1 decided to make me it's next victim. For a mild case, it's totally kicked my ass! **

**Thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and even just lurking!**

**Also, I've based Chris Flack on a wonderful actor named Galen Gering (I will put a pic up on my profile after I post this chapter) who plays Rafe Hernandez on Days of Our Lives (my mother's been watching the damn thing since WAYYYY back in the day when it first came on air)**

* * *

**Special thanks to:**

**Afrozenheart412**

**CSINYMinute**

**Andorian Ice Princess- AIP**

**Hope4sall**

**wolfeylady**

**xSamiliciousx**

**ParaCaerOuVoar**

**Forest Angel**

**BlueEyedAuthor**

**Soccer-bitch**

**The Beauty in Everything**

**JonasBROgirl8816**


	33. Bless the Broken Road

**DISCLAIMER: SAME AS THE CHAPTERS BEFORE**

**THIS IS SORT OF A FILLER CHAPTER FOR ALL OF THOSE WHO WANT MORE FLACK AND COLLIN!! AND TO TAKE A BREAK BEFORE THE BREE-ANNE AND HER PARENTS DRAMA!**

* * *

**Bless the Broken Road**

"I think about the years I spent, just passing through  
I'd like to have the time I lost, and give it back to you  
But you just smile and take my hand  
You've been there, you understand  
It's all part of a grander plan that is coming true

Every long lost dream led me to where you are  
Others who broke my heart, they were like northern stars  
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms  
This much I know is true

That God blessed the broken road  
That led me straight to you."  
-Bless the Broken Road, Rascal Flatts

* * *

_**Flack's POV**_

"I think my wife is on serious crack," Danny declares. "Like seriously bad, bad crack."

I switch my cell phone from one ear to the other, then stretch out my legs and place the heels of my sneakers on the footrest of the empty stroller that sits in front of me. Collin and I had managed to snag the last remaining seats on the subway heading into midtown; he's currently on his knees beside me, palms of his hands, forehead and nose pressed against the window. Looking for trolls. He's determined he's going to find one or two down in the subway tunnels; it's the main reason why he always wants to take the damn thing everywhere as opposed to driving. Last night, as I finished the tacking the dreadful Pittsburgh Penguins posters up in his nearly complete bedroom, I'd chuckled to myself as I listened to Collin and Breezy in the small bathroom as she gave him a bubble bath and he entertained her with an elaborate tale -complete with vivid description- about the troll he'd seen that very morning. We'd taken a rather short and uneventful trip to the library three blocks from the apartment so Collin could take part in Mother Goose hour, and instead of telling his mother about the stories he'd heard, he'd relayed one of his very own.

"I think he's going to grow up to write children's books," Breezy had said a few hours later, after we'd finally crawled into bed; dead tired and aching from head to toe. "Either that or he's going to ask us for a troll for Christmas until he realizes that they don't exist."

"Oh they exist babe," I'd said with a grin, as I wrapped both arms around her slender body and pulled her tight into me; her back and ass pressed into the front of me and my face buried in her hair. "Uncle Bobby and Phil are the two biggest ones I know."

She'd laughed at that, then had issued a long, content sigh and had snuggled back against me and nestled the side of her face into her pillow. We'd fallen asleep like that; her softly stroking my forearm, as we lay completely wrapped up in one another in the truest sense of the word. Sharing a bed together has a helped a lot in my recovery from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Having her there, feeling her warm, welcoming body so close to mine and listening to each steady breath she takes has taught me how to relax again. She makes me feel safe and secure; nothing horrible can happen to me because she's there to chase away the monsters. There's the rare night where I wake up in a cold sweat, bolting into a sitting position with the sheets twisted around my legs. I never remember what the actual dream is about; I never see Jess or Simon Cade anymore. I'm no longer transported back to that moment where I'm carrying her broken and near lifeless body out of the dinner or using my hand to cover her gaping wound in the back of the blue and white. And I haven't relived the moment in that boiler room since I'd come clean to Mac and Sinclair about killing Cade. Whatever is haunting me seems to be totally unrelated to what happened just little over a year ago; the doctors are wondering if my new found status as a father has something to do with it. That deep down I'm terrified of something horrific happening to Collin or Breezy. Or both at the same time in the worst case possible.

All I do know is that Breezy seems neither fazed nor bothered by the nightmares; she's quick to soothe me, forcing me to lie back down and then trailing the tips of her fingers along my forehead, down the bridge of my nose and underneath my eyes. The soft, feathery touches doing wonders to lull me back to sleep.

I seriously wonder how I'd ever managed to survive so long without her.

And without the little boy that's dangerous close to toppling off the edge of his seat, I curl an arm around his waist, keeping a firm hold on him as he continues his search for trolls and I continue with my conversation.

"Linds has to be drugged or stoned to put up with you," I say into my cell phone. "No woman would willingly put themselves through that kind of torture."

"Very funny Flack," Danny grumbles. "I don't know how in the hell Bree ever manages to contain herself while living with your fantastic comedic talents."

"She tolerates me at best," I joke, and then playfully pinch Collin's stomach.

He gives a small start, and then as my fingers proceed to begin tickling him, tosses his head back, closes his eyes and lets loose that giggle he's inherited from his mother. And attracts attention from the other passengers on the subway. I can't help it that my kid is incredibly adorable; he's a mix of everything that is amazing about his mother and I. We'd definitely managed to create something phenomenal that Valentine's Day nearly four years. Being a dad is everything I'd ever dreamed it would be and then some. Every time Collin so much as looks at me with those huge blue eyes or he climbs up onto the couch and snuggles into me while watching the ball game, my heart threatens to explode from the overwhelming love that I feel for him. It feels as if he's always been a part of my life; we've connected so quickly and effortlessly and I've formed a bond with him that can never be broken. He represents everything that is perfect and innocent in this world, a constant reminder that his mother and I have something so profound that time and secrets can never sever. We've always loved one another, but sharing a child has added something so much more powerful to our relationship. We created life together; we're someone's mommy and daddy. And regardless of what the future holds for Breezy and I -I can only hope it holds forever, because I don't think I could survive losing her again- we'll always have Collin; we'll always be his parents.

His giggling subsides, his eyes open and he shoots me that dimpled grin before plopping down on the empty seat next to me. I'd insisted that we bring along the stroller; he can't walk that far without tiring out and carrying him around the city is out of the question. The kid is a lot heavier than he looks. But there was no way I'd been able to force him to stay restrained in his buddy on the subway when his little life revolved around looking for those damn trolls.

"You know you're the only one that can get away with calling her that," I say into the phone. "She's never let anyone call her Bree."

"That's 'cause she has a huge soft spot for me," my best friend declares. "Although she needs her head read for putting up with a shmuck like you."

"It's love Dan-o," I say, as I wrap my arm around Collin's tiny body and pull him tight into my side as he picks up the Weinstein's cake catalogue from its resting place on my lap. "She's crazy about me."

"Oh she's crazy alright," Danny mutters. "But no crazier than my wife; must be contagious. You know she practically has Collin and Lucy's wedding date picked out? That she's already going on and on about what a cute couple they make and how sweet and adorable your boy is and how he'd treat Lucy right? How the hell can he be sweet and adorable? He's a Flack!"

"Don't be hatin'," I grin, and drop a kiss on the top of my son's backwards Mets cap. We look like twins; both in khaki cargo shorts, t-shirts -an orange one for him, black for his old man- and our baseball caps and flip-flops. Man-dals, Breezy always calls them, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the thought and sight of guys wearing sandals of any kind. "Collin got his looks and his charm from his old man."

"You're really pushing your luck today," Danny says. "You know, with this constantly giddy mood and that smile I know never leaves your face, I would swear you're actually looking forward to giving up your bachelor days."

"I've been willing to give them up since I was eighteen years old and Breezy and I planned on skipping town and getting hitched in Atlantic City," I tell my best friend. "We came _this-close_; a week before we were supposed to head down she chickened out. Too worried about how her dad was going to react when he found out."

"Isn't her old man some kind of religious wing-nut?" Danny asks, and there's a slight rustling noise as he switches his cell phone from one ear to the other; I can hear lab techs chatting in the background, along with the various beeps and chimes from the high tech analyzing equipment.

"I wouldn't exactly call him a wing-nut," I reply. "He's not into Scientology or any weird cults or anything. He's just…I don't know…he's a born again who thinks that he's above everyone else and has the right to judge everybody and condemn them for every little mistake they make."

"One of those who think 'cause they get a cup of holy water tossed on their heads that their past is completely erased," Danny concludes. "Who thinks that he's the only one worthy of salvation and that the rest of us peons are going straight to hell."

"Pretty much," I sigh. "So you can imagine how he reacted hearing what Breezy had to say on the stand at Dean's trial."

"No wonder he didn't have a stroke," my best friend says. "That must have knocked him for a loop; finding out that his precious son in law was a drug dealer and a murderer."

"Are you kidding me? He was more furious at the fact that his baby girl had an affair; that she had the nerve to step out on a guy that was emotionally abusive. Can you believe that he made her get re-baptized after Collin was born? That he made her 'purge herself of her sins'? This coming from a guy that has a rap sheet longer than I am tall."

"Maybe you should remind him of that," Danny says. "Next time he gets on the two of you for being together; toss it in his face, see what his reasoning for being judge, jury and executioner is."

"Wouldn't do any good; he thinks he's far above the rest of us. That and Breezy doesn't know a thing about his past. Once he found Christ that was it. He never talked about his previous life again. He became a new man; short of changing his name he took on a whole new identity."

"At the risk of sounding like a religious nut myself, God doesn't forget who you were before," Danny says. "He keeps records; no matter how many damn times you want to dunk your head in the baptismal font. We all have to answer for our mistakes at the end of things; don't matter if it's for stealing a pack of gum when you were five or holding up a bodega when you were fifty."

"Paging Reverend Messer," I chuckle. "When did you become all wise and knowing and God-fearing?"

"The second your son announced that my Lucy was his girlfriend; right there and then I realized I needed some help from the big guy upstairs to protect my angel from your spawn."

"Collin's harmless," I assure my best friend. "He's a good little boy; his intentions are strictly honourable."

"For now at least," Danny says. "For now it's all about sharing their dessert at the supper table and watching cartoons all cuddled up together."

"Don't forget those little kisses your angel lays on my boy every chance she gets," I add. "Or those joint baths our wives like to give the kids."

"You just had to go and remind me about that," Danny mumbles. "That is going to stop, I'll tell you that much."

"They're toddlers," I remind him. "They don't know that they're actually seeing each other naked in the whole sexual sense. Now if we ever find out they're taking baths and showers together when they're in their late teens…"

"I swear to you, I will castrate your son with my bare hands," my best friend declares. "Love you like a brother, Flack. And I love Collin like he's my nephew; you know that. But if I ever find out that your son is dropping his drawers anywhere near my daughter when they're teenagers…"

"You should just be thankful your daughter has such good taste," I chuckle.

"Right…" Danny gives a derisive snort. "And I'll have you know that Collin is the one kissing Lucy; putting the moves on her all the time."

"You're delusional," I tell him. "Second we walk through your apartment door, Lucy's running to greet him. Grabbing him by the face and planting a wet one on him."

"Kisses like her mother," he laughs. "Wet and sloppy…" there's a loud smack over the phone. "Ow!" he cries, as Lindsay mutters profanities in the background. "What the hell was that for Montana?"

"You never complain about the way I kiss," she responds. "In fact, why don't you be honest and admit it out loud that you always tells me that I'm the best kisser that you've ever had?"

"Busted," I chuckle.

"And you two are worse than women," she continues. "You guys are always on the phone; Bree-Anne and I don't even talk that much. What could you and Flack have to talk about all the time? You work together, our kids play together…"

"We're discussing his bachelor party," Danny informs her. "We're discussing the finer things in life; like strippers jumping out of huge cakes and wearing naughty school girl outfits."

"You'll be both be discussing sleeping on the couch if either of you even think about having a bachelor party like that," she declares.

"Guess the lap dances and body shots are out of the question," Danny says into the phone. "Listen, I better go; my wife's giving me the death glare and unless I want to eating frozen dinners and riding the sofa for the rest of my natural born life…"

"Two threats that I _already_ hear on a regular basis," I grin. "Get back to work, slacker. Collin and I will be around the lab in an hour or so. Maybe we'll even stop by the in house day care. He'll be ready for a nap by then; he can cuddle next to Lucy in that little Dora sleeping bag of hers."

"Don't even think about it!" Danny warns, and then disconnects the call.

I press the end button on my cell phone, and then lean forward and drop it into one of the pouches on the side of Collin's stroller. "What'cha looking at buddy?" I ask, as I remove my Mets cap, rake a hand through my almost non-existent hair and then place the cap backwards on my head.

"I wants dis cake," Collin replies, and taps the tip of his index finger against the glossy page before him; indicating an elaborate three tiered Spiderman birthday cake that features an action figure of the superhero swinging from the top of the Empire State Building. "It's my faborite."

"It's pretty cool," I agree. "But something tells me that your mommy doesn't want a Spiderman cake when she gets married."

He frowns, and then flips a page. "What about dis one?" he inquires, turning hopeful blue eyes up at me while pointing at a Sponge Bob Square Pants cake. "Mum-mum likes Sponge Bob. Or did?" he jabs his finger against a photo of a Hello Kitty confection.

"How about _maybe _Spiderman or Sponge Bob for your birthday and maybe a Hello Kitty or Strawberry Shortcake one for mommy's birthday," I suggest.

"Maybe Spiderman for my birt-day and Sponge Bob for your birt-day and Strawberry Shortcake for mum-mum's birt-day," my son cries. "And then Sesame Street for Luna's birt-day!"

"Luna can't have a Sesame Street cake," I chuckle. "Dog's don't like birthday cake."

"Yes they do!" Collin nods adamantly. "Luna loves birt-day cake! And pizza! And ice cream!"

"You mean you love pizza and ice cream," I tease, tickling my son's stomach, eliciting a shriek and a giggle from him before scooping him up onto my lap. "And cake, and cookies," I press a noisy kiss to his cheek and circle his waist with my arms. "And hot dogs and hamburgers and…"

"Chicken 'uggets!" he exclaims.

"Can't forget the chicken nuggets," I say, and place the cake catalogue on his lap. "Or the banana pancakes."

"I loves 'nana pancakes," Collin declares with a dreamy sigh.

"Do you love them more than…Luna?" I ask, and pinch his tummy.

"No!" he giggles.

"Do you love them more than…daddy?" I try again.

"Nope…not more than Donnie my forever daddy."

"How about? Mommy? Do you love pancakes more than mommy?"

"No love nuttin' more than mommy!" Collin cries. "Ever!"

"Yeah…you are definitely your mommy's boy that's for sure," I say, and cuddle my boy close to my chest. It may have been hell on earth for Breezy since Dean's trial, but there's one thing I know for sure: she's done a hell of a job raising our son. He's healthy, ferociously intelligent and extremely happy; despite her own struggles and her own turmoil, she had seen to it that he was well taken care of. And loved beyond all measure and comprehension. She hadn't really needed me; both she and Collin had managed just fine without me. She's a lot stronger than I -and herself for that matter- have ever given her credit for.

"Do I gets to have a baby brudda or sistah?" Collin asks curiously. "When you and mum-mum gets married? Does dat mean I gets a baby brudda or sistah?"

"Things don't happen that quickly," I reply. "So it really means that mommy and I will try and make you a baby brother or sister. And if it happens…well then it will take a little while for the baby to actually get here."

"How long?" he inquires.

"Nine months," I answer.

Collin's eyes narrow and he tilts his head to one side. "How many sweeps?" he asks, needing more clarification.

"It's…" I quickly, and very, very roughly, do the math in my head. "…about two hundred and seventy…give or take a few."

"That's a lot!" Collin gasps. "How comes so many?"

"That's how many it takes for a baby to be ready to come out of its mommy's tummy," I attempt to explain, not wanting to make it needlessly difficult for either Collin or myself. "Because the baby needs to be healthy and strong enough to be okay outside of their mommy's belly; it takes a long time for things to work properly on their own."

"Oh…" he says slowly. "Was I in mum-mum's tummy for that long, too?"

"Your mommy had to wait a long time to see you," I confirm, and immediately think of the pictures so lovingly on display in Collin's baby book that rest on the coffee table at home.

Breezy had documented every detail -small and large- of our son's first year of life. I may sound prejudiced, but he'd been a beautiful newborn with all of that black hair and those huge blue eyes. My favourite photo by far is the very first one taken of him and his mommy together shortly after he was born; the smile on Breezy's face -despite the heartache _both_ Dean and I had caused her- was indescribable as she tightly cuddled our baby. It's the one thing that leaves a slightly bitter taste in my mouth; missing the entire pregnancy and the moment he'd arrived in the world.

"But she was happy!" Collin exclaims. "She was happy to see me!"

"That's because she loved you the second she found out about you," I tell him. "I bet you she was excited as soon as she knew you were in her tummy; I bet she was really impatient and couldn't wait for you to be born."

"Dat's 'cause I'm mum-mum's sweet cheeks," he giggles. "Will mum-mum still loves me if I gets a baby brudda or sistah?"

"Why wouldn't she love you?" I ask, and press a kiss to his temple. "You're mommy's baby; you'll always be her baby. Just like no matter how old you are, she'll always be your mum-mum."

"Like my book!" my son cries. "I'll love you foreber, I'll like you for always."

"Does that go for daddies too?" I ask, as he leans his head back against my shoulder and shoves his thumb in his mouth. "Will you always love daddy?"

"Foreber and eber," he declares around the digit firmly planted between his lips, and gives a content sigh.

I smile and press a kiss to his cheek; determined to make every once of these precious, irreplaceable moments last.

* * *

"Whoa…" Stella pauses in the doorway to the lab break room; empty coffee mug in hand, her curls tied back in a sloppy ponytail. "…if this isn't a serious déjà vu moment…"

I glance up from the small pink cardboard box cracked open in front of me -one of several in fact-, plastic fork poised near my lips as I attempt to polish off the cake sample in front of me. This is every man and woman's dream come true; a seemingly endless supply of sweets laid out in front of them and zero guilt nagging at them for devouring every single slice of sugary paradise. I have no idea why I'd ever complained to Breezy about it being my responsibility to choose our wedding cake; I'm on a steady lunchtime diet of some of Weinstein's most popular offerings. And it's taking more than one nibble of each sample to select which cake will adequately do the job at our reception.

"Grant Jordan case," I say, as I pop the lemon and vanilla concoction into my mouth. "New York's most eligible bachelor found dead in his pool."

"Swim gym," Stella corrects, as she enters the break room, and immediately heads to the recently brewed pot of coffee and fills her mug to the brim.

"Had a thing for blue eyed blonds had a wackadoo of an ex maid that was planning their wedding without him even realizing they were even engaged," I continue. "Buddhist neighbour killed him 'cause the noise of the pool or whatever distracted him from arts and crafts time."

"A sand mandala," Stella says, as she crosses the room, and standing behind my chair, presses a kiss to my cheek. "Requires long hours and a whole lot of patience. And apparently for you, a lot of cake sampling all in the name of science."

"I never need an excuse to eat," I declare, and then scoop up the last piece of cake in the box in front of me and hold in front of Stella's lips. "I wish I could tell you that I had some more of that flourless chocolate torte like last time…"

"That one was my favourite," she says, and helps herself to the dessert offered to her. "Mmmm…" she gives a nod of approval and clears icing off of the corners of her mouth with the tip of her right baby finger. "Now that is just pure heaven right there."

"Lemon icing on vanilla," I say, and then lean forward to flip open the lids on the remaining boxes. "We also have black forest, butter cream frosting on banana cake, carrot cake with cream cheese icing, raspberry torte and my personal favourite…" I pick up the last box in question. "…pecan flavoured topping and filling on vanilla cake."

"Are you telling me this is your main job for the wedding?" Stella asks, as she pulls out the chair beside me and slips into it. "That this is your one and only responsibility?"

I nod and delve into the cake. "All I have to do is pick this bad boy and show up. Can't get much easier than that. You get my email?"

"The strange and obscure one about the time and place of your nuptials?" she inquires teasingly and sips her coffee. "The one that said at the very end, PS: make sure you wear something nice. Is that the one you're referring to?"

"How's that for a wedding invitation?" I grin. "Nothing says I love you and I want you there on my big day then a half assed email."

"I'd show up if you sent it through a carrier pigeon," Stella says, and reaches out to rub my shoulder affectionately. "I'm happy for you, Don; we all are. After everything that's happened in the last year, we're just glad to see you almost back to your old self. It's a relief to see that smile again; although I could do without the return of the ego and the sarcasm."

"I'm not me without the ego and the smart mouth, Stel," I reason. "Me without a swelled head and a sarcastic wit? Come on, who you kidding?"

"Well smart ass comments and cockiness aside, I'm glad you're back," she leans sideways and pecks my cheek once again. "We all are; we were getting worried about you, you know. You had a lot of us freaked out there for a while. And this whole thing with Simon Cade…"

"Mac told you about that, huh?"

"You could have come and told us, Flack. No one would have looked at you any differently for doing what you did. He murdered Jess; he could have easily killed you, too. It was self-defence and no one would have judged you for that."

I nod and use my fork to push the remains of the cake around the box in my hand. I don't have the heart to tell her that it wasn't so cut and dry, that Danny had actually planted the gun in Cade's hand to make it look as if I'd been in grave danger in that boiler room. It's a secret my best friend and I will take to the grave; one that no one else ever needs to get wind of. Save for my future wife, that is.

"I start therapy next week," I say instead, as I drop the box onto the table and pick up the can of Coke sitting amongst the mess. "For my post-traumatic stress disorder."

"That's a step in the right direction," Stella gives an approving nod. "It will do you some good, Don. You've got a lot of things you need to get off of your chest; you don't want all of it weighing it done when you've got this bright, amazing future ahead of you."

"I'm only doing it for them," I tell her, and take a swig of my pop. "Only reason I'm doing this is for Breezy and Collin; they don't deserve to live with all of my baggage. I need to get my shit together for them."

"And for yourself," Stella gently argues. "The only way it's going to work is if you go in there with an open mind; admit and accept that you have a problem and that you need help."

"How about I just come over to your place, lie on your couch and let you be the shrink?" I chide, a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. "At least you're not some quack department therapist; you know my aversion to NYPD doctors."

"I'd probably be worse," she says. "I certainly wouldn't let you get away with wallowing and feeling sorry for yourself; you wouldn't see me patting you on the back and holding your hand. I'd be telling you to get your head out of your ass and smarten the hell up already."

"Tough love," I grin. "I like things rough."

Stella smirks and shakes her head. "If that's some kind of nod to your sex life, I don't want to hear the details. So where's the rug rat?" she asks, nodding in the direction of Collin's empty stroller.

"Ross is letting him help blow up a toilet," I reply. "All in the name of science of course," I add, when I see both her eyebrows raise. "Actually, they did the exploding john thing last week. I think Adam's letting Collin play with his PSP or my kid's helping him catch bad guys in the AV room."

"So a future CSI or a cop on our hands, huh?" Stella smiles. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Don't get your hopes up," I tell her. "Two days ago he told me that he wanted to a doggy doctor. Yesterday he said he wanted to be GI Joe when he was a big boy. Today he changed his mind and said he wants to be a figure skating astronaut."

"He's keeping his options open," she laughs. "And you're hoping for…?"

"First overall in the NHL draft in 2025," I say. "You actually had to ask me that? Kid's going to be six foot five, two hundred and thirty pounds by the time he's that age. He's going to be raking in the millions and taking care of mommy and daddy."

"It's good to dream, Flack," Stella says, as she leans forward and pats me on the shoulder. "So when are we going to be seeing another offspring?" she inquires, and sips her coffee. "When's the next Flack baby going to make it's debut? Because you and Bree-Anne make some beautiful kids."

"When's the first Taylor-Bonasera baby going to arrive?" I tease.

"No fair. I asked first."

"We're trying," I say. "Actively trying, in fact."

"Then that makes two of us," Stella toasts me with her mug. "Or should I say four of us."

"What's going on around here?" I ask, as I lean back in my chair, stretch my legs out under the table and fold my hands together on my stomach. "It's like there's something in the water; everyone's settling down at the same time. Getting hitched, having kids, the whole nine. First Danny, then you and Mac, now me."

"Well technically you have us all beat on the kid front," she says. "But I don't know what's going on. Maybe it's a mood we're all in? Maybe we all realize that we're not getting any younger and that we don't want to be miserable and alone all of our lives. Maybe we all just finally get our acts together and went after what, and who, we really wanted."

I nod in agreement. "I guess my situation is a lot like yours," I muse.

"How you figure?"

"You and Mac have been working together for years; you've been friends for forever it seems. And you already admitted a while back that you'd had feelings for him for a long time; that you never took the chance on approaching him about it until after Jess died." I'm amazed how easily the words roll off of my tongue now; it not longer hurts like a bastard to admit she's gone.

"Jess' death made me realize how short life is," Stella says. "That I'd wasted enough time; I deserve to be happy and he was the one person who could give me that."

"And it's kind of the same with me. I've been kicking myself in the ass nearly every day for the last three and a half years, ever since I let Breezy walk out of that courthouse without me. I tried convincing myself that I didn't love her anymore, that everything that happened was a sign that we were never meant to be together, that the best thing for both of us was staying the hell away from each other. All years I'd thrown myself into my job, into meaningless relationships; if you can even call them that. I talked to friends, I talked to God, hell I even talked to myself. I tried sober, I tried drinking. I did everything to move on like I suppose to and you know what? There wasn't a day where I didn't think about her; where I didn't miss her."

"And now you have her back," Stella tells me. "And it doesn't matter how it happened or who pushed who in what direction; all that matters is that this is what you want. She's what you want. What you need."

"I never realized until I saw her in her parents front yard how many pages of my life she actually filled up," I admit. "I'd just went there to try and make amends for what I'd done and…the second I looked at her I knew that I still loved her; that I'd go through hell and back to be with her. And I can't help but think that if Jess hadn't died, I wouldn't be here right now. I wouldn't be doing this whole wedding cake thing or spending time with my boy; Breezy wouldn't be back in my life. It's like I had to lose one to gain the other and I…I feel bad for thinking that way, Stella. I feel like a first class bastard for thinking how if bringing Jess back meant losing Breezy and Collin…" I shake my head and take a swallow of pop in an attempt to wash down the lump of emotion that has settled in my throat. "I couldn't make that decision; I couldn't lose Breezy or my son again."

"And you won't ever have to," she says. "Jesus, Don, you've been through so much; it's been a hell of year for you. Would you just cut yourself some slack? Would you for once stop questioning how you're feeling and doubting yourself? No one is pissed off because you're going on with your life; no one expected you to be alone forever. You need to stop belittling yourself for thinking and feeling the things you are, okay? We all know that you were in love with Jess; but you didn't love her. Not in the way that you love Bree-Anne. And there's always that one love in our lives that we never get over. No matter how hard we try."

I nod slowly as I allow Stella's words to sink in.

"You have this amazing chance in front of you with someone that's always held this huge piece of your heart," she continues. "And maybe it would never have happened if Jess hadn't have died. But it has happened and you need to stop asking yourself why and how and just start…well just start living again, Don."

"Daddeee!" Collin's ear piercing shriek busts through the solemn, dreary mood hanging over the room and I glance over my shoulder as my son races towards me; chocolate smeared across his face and staining the front of his t-shirt. "Guess what?" he asks, as he attempts to scramble up into my lab. "Guess what Uncle Buddy and I did?"

"Uncle Buddy?" Stella asks curiously, as I hoist Collin up onto my lap by the ass of his shorts.

"That would be me," Adam says sheepishly as he enters the room. "He was calling everyone else Aunt and Uncle and he wanted to know what he could call me and I…well I kind of told him that seeing as we were really good buddies and that we love to blow up toilets together and we like all the same things like sweet and sour sauce on our French fries and salt and vinegar chips dipped in mustard…"

"Spit it out Ross," I grin. "Just spit it out."

"Well I kind of told him that he could call me Uncle Buddy and…well…he just sort of took to it and…"

"Uncle Buddy is my bestest buddy in da whole world!" Collin exclaims. "Guess what we did?"

"I hope all the toilets in the lab are in working order," Stella says.

"We had Hostess cupcakes, Auntie 'Tella!" my son informs her. "I ate a whole two all my myself!"

"You are definitely your father's child," Lindsay pipes up from the doorway.

"Lucy's mommy!" Collin squeals, and jumps down off of my lap and hurries towards the door.

"Look at you little Flack!" Lindsay tousles his hair, then licks two of her fingers and uses them to clear the chocolate from his tiny face. "You're a mess!" she declares, as she wipes the mess off onto the leg of her grey slacks. "You must have really, really liked those cupcakes!"

He nods enthusiastically.

"I've got a surprise for you," Lindsay says, and laying her hands on his shoulders, turns Collin towards the door. "Look who's out there with Uncle Danny…"

"Lucy!" Collin screams excitedly, and tears out of the room.

"Match made in heaven," Stella laughs, as the two 'lab children' exchange hugs and very sloppy kisses while Danny keeps a close, stern eye on my son's behaviour. "Looks like those two already have each other wrapped around their little fingers," she adds, as Lucy and Collin, with my best friend lagging behind, bounce down the hallway hand in hand.

"I don't know about Lucy," Lindsay gives a long, content sigh. "But he sure has my heart in his back pocket."

I can't help but grin. Just shy of three and my kid's already a success with the ladies. He's the whole package; substance and style.

Exactly like his mother.

* * *

**Huge thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and even just lurking! I appreciate all of the support! For those of you reading 'The Keeper of the Stars', it's on a slight break at the moment until my muse comes back. If there's anything you guys would like to see in that story, let me know!!!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Afrozenheart412**

**CSINYMinute**

**Andorian Ice Princess -AIP**

**ParaCaerOuVoar**

**wolfeylady**

**hope4sall**

**xSamiliciousx**

**x3Sunnydaay**

**Forest Angel**

**BlueEyedAuthor**

**Nienna Tinehtele**

**Dreamer Child 88**

**Yoda11**

**JonasBROSgirl8816**

**Soccer-bitch**


	34. Beside You

**DISCLAIMER: SAME AS PREVIOUS CHAPTERS**

**A/N: I DON'T KNOW ABOUT ANYONE ELSE, BUT A VULNERABLE, TROUBLED AND LESS THAN PERFECT FLACK IS SO DAMN SEXY**

* * *

**Beside You**

"When your tears are spent on your last pretense  
And your tired eyes refuse to close and sleep in your defense.  
When it's in your spine like you've walked for miles  
And the only thing you want is just to be still for a while

If your heart wears thin I will hold you up  
And I will hide you when it gets too much  
I'll be right beside you  
I'll be right beside you

When you're overwhelmed and you've lost your breath  
When the space between the things you know is blurry nonetheless.  
When you try to speak but you make no sound  
And the words you want are out of reach but they've never been so loud

If your heart wears thin I will hold you up  
And I will hide you when it gets too much  
I'll be right beside you  
I'll be right beside you."  
-Beside You, Marianas Trench

* * *

_**Bree-Anne's POV**_

"So does your old man still get his kicks from going all Pope John Paul on people?" Chris inquires, as we leisurely stroll through the sidewalks of downtown Flushing, chatting amicably and laughing easily as we sip cold drinks and catch up on lost time.

We had grabbed lunch at a family diner that we had always frequented as teenagers. There'd been many a Saturday afternoon spend there with Donnie, Chris and their sister Sam; the four of us had been practically joined at the hips, and back then Sam had held the distinction of being my second best friend. The four years that separated us hadn't prevented us from being great friends; the fact that she was a 'minor niner' while I was in my final year of high school hadn't stopped me from wanting to hang out with her. I guess Sam had been the sister that I had never had; the female companionship that I'd been starving for with so many brothers around and my mother virtually absent. Bianca hadn't been thrilled welcoming Sammie into the fold. She'd viewed her as nuisance, an annoying little kid that followed us everywhere and 'cramped our style' when it came to meeting boys. But nothing could have torn me away from Donnie's little sister; I had loved spending time with her. We'd had slumber parties complete with makeovers, gossiping about Hollywood stars and sharing our deepest and darkest secrets. Sam had been the first person I'd confided in about being sexually involved with Donnie. Bianca had been the type -she still was in way- that only cared about hearing all the explicit details and I'd been looking for someone that would understand the more tender, intimate side of the actual act. It hadn't been just sex to me; he'd been my first and we'd both been inexperienced, but from the very first night it had meant so much more to both of us. It hadn't been just a means to an end; we'd fallen in love that night. We'd learned how to respect and adore each other by seeing one another at our most vulnerable and awkward moments.

Sam had been initially grossed out. What girl wants to hear that someone is having sex with their brother? But she'd realized that I had needed someone to confide in. Someone that wouldn't make fun of the fact that I while I was terrified and nervous about being 'that way' with someone, I actually enjoyed it immensely. I had needed someone that I trusted to tell me that it was okay; that despite my father's teachings that I'd go to hell for having sex in the first place let alone liking it, that I wasn't going to burn in eternal damnation for it. That I was a normal, healthy girl and there was nothing wrong with me for 'getting off' during intimate moments. And I had wanted to be able to tell someone about how I was feeling, that regardless of my tender age, I was in love with Donnie and wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.

It's funny how sitting in that diner had brought back all of those old memories. How easily I was transported back nearly nineteen years ago to the night of homecoming and the four of us had occupied a booth at the very back of the establishment, sharing plates of French fries and sipping milkshakes while dressed in tuxedos and formal gowns. I hadn't thought about that night in a long time, about how we'd stayed there long after midnight and had to be practically pushed out the door by the night manager. Donnie and I had gone to Astoria Park afterwards; I can vividly remember standing at the chain link fence that separated the most eastern edge of the park from the bank of the East River; in awe at the sight of the Triborough Bridge and lower Manhattan awash in a sea of lights. I can still recall how the fabric of Donnie's tuxedo jacket grazed against my bare arms when he draped it around me after I'd shivered and complained how cold it was. I can still feel his strong arms as they wrapped around my waist from behind and drew me back against him. His body had been so warm, he'd smelled so good, and I can still feel the heat from his breath on the side of my neck and recall the way I shivered when he'd pressed a kiss to my temple.

On way hand, it feels as if that night had happened just yesterday. On another it seems like it was a century ago; things had been simpler then. We hadn't had the worries we do now; there'd been no bills to pay, no long term plans to stress about, no responsibilities of raising a child and putting a roof over their head and food in their mouth. It had been all about us back then; all that had mattered was that we were in love and we knew we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. Never in a million years had we'd dreamed our lives would take two entirely different paths.

And that as two broken and lonely people we'd somehow find our way back to each other again.

It's just a shame that Sam is such a mess. I haven't seen her in years, although I've heard the gossip at church at how troubled she is. That she's somehow managed to fall into a bad way with alcohol and drugs and that both her father and Donnie had had to bail her out of trouble multiple times. He'd attempted to contact her and tell her about the wedding, and about Collin. But the number he had for her has been disconnected and when he'd gone by her apartment, had found out from the super that Sammie hadn't lived there in months.

I know it bothers him; Donnie can't stand not having control over every situation in his life. He wants to save the world; to keep everyone he loves safe and sound. And I don't have the heart to tell him that maybe this time his sister is just too far out of reach. I love him too much to break his heart.

"My dad is still very…_faithful_," I respond to Chris' light-hearted teasing, and take a sip of my iced caramel latte.

"Guess that's one way of puttin' it," he chuckles. "I still remember that time he went nuts on my brother when he found out that the two of you were doing the nasty; threatened to castrate him with a steak knife if he so as much came within a hundred yards of you. Didn't he make you go to some religious retreat when he found out about you and Junior?"

"I went to the religious retreats just to keep my parents happy," I admit. "He made me go to that two week survival shit in the woods with other 'troubled teens who'd lost their way'." I make air quotes around the last six words. "Because I'd let evil touch me and I needed to learn how to make my way in the big bad wilderness and proof to God that I was still a loyal disciple even though I wasn't a virgin anymore," I give a derisive snort and roll my eyes. "It would have really given him a stroke had I'd told him I hadn't been a virgin for nearly a year and that he was slow on the uptake figuring that out."

"Your old man's always been a little…what's a polite way of putting it?…unhinged," Chris says. "I have no clue how you'd ever managed to turn out so normal living under the same roof as that man for so long."

"I wouldn't know if normal is an accurate word to describe me," I give a dry laugh. "I've done some pretty un-normal things in the past few years."

"You mean starting the ball rolling by marrying that dickhead Dean Truby?" Chris asks with a smirk.

"Not one of my finer moments that's for sure," I sigh. "I should have bailed when I had the chance; left him standing at the alter."

"I'm sure back then, when you fell in love with him and decided to marry him he was a decent guy," my future brother in law sympathizes. "I'm sure that you wouldn't have been with him had he'd been any other way; you always had a way of latching onto the guys that would treat you right. My brother was good at that from what I remember. Had this uncanny ability of being a total douche bag but being able to keep a girl like you."

"Your brother always had this amazing way of making me feel like I was the most incredible woman on the face of the earth," I smile, taking a long sip from the straw poking out of my drink before adding, "He's still like that; he's got this way of looking at me and giving me this little smile that…I don't know…it makes me feel as if he only sees me; that no one else could ever take my place or even hold a candle to me."

"That's because no one else could ever take your place or hold a candle to you," Chris informs me. "You've always been the one and only for my brother; doesn't matter how many other women he's dated or been serious about. They all were replacements for you, Bree-Anne. Even Jess. As much as it pains me to say that."

"He loved her," I say. "He's been upfront and honest about that. And I certainly didn't expect him to be single and miserable forever. He loved her and I'd never try to take her place or try to dumb down the grief that he felt. I didn't know Jess that well but…I respected her enough and respect her enough now to not simplify what she had with Donnie."

"Totally wrecked him when she died," Chris sighs. "Did a real number on him. But I think he was more torn up and having the hardest time over the fact that he actually killed the guy that murdered her."

I nearly choke on my mouthful of latte, and coughing and sputtering as I force myself to swallow, I abruptly halt in my tracks and step in front of Chris. "How did you know about that?" I ask, my voice low and my eyes narrowed as I look up at him; my petite frame completely towered over by his tall, much larger one. "You can't just go around saying things like that when you don't know exactly what happened and you can't…"

"Relax, Bree-Anne," Chris tousles my hair affectionately and lays a comforting hand on the back of my neck, squeezing lightly. " Just chill, okay? My dad told me. He just wanted to give me a heads up in case some gossip started going around the FDNY. The last name Flack carries a lot of weight. A lot of history. It's inevitable; people are going to get a hold of that little piece of information and spread it around."

"I just don't want Donnie to get hurt," I say. "He's been through enough and I don't want people passing judgement. He did what he did; he has to live with that for the rest of his life. He doesn't deserve complete strangers talking about him behind his back. And he certainly doesn't need some asshole making him out to be some kind of monster. He's going to be my husband, he's the father of my child, and no one is going to talk about him like that and…"

"Bree-Anne…" Chris' voice is stern as he tightens his hold on the back of my neck. "…you worry too much; Donnie' a big boy. He can take care of himself."

"But he's my everything," I argue. "He's my sun and my moon and my stars and he's my…he's my entire world and he doesn't deserve to be treated like that. He's not a horrible person because he killed Simon Cade."

"Of course he's not. Personally I think he deserves a goddamn medal. But you can't protect him. You just can't; he's a grown man and he's made his mistakes and burned his bridges. And no matter what we think, no matter how much we argue the point that he did the right thing and that he's suffered enough for pulling that trigger, the fact of the matter is that there are going to be people that say shitty things about him. The world is a nasty ass place and you can't keep him safe from every fuck head wandering the streets. We believe in him and we support him; other people will talk about how he doesn't deserve his shield and that he should face the consequences of what he did. You're going to hear that shit and it's going to bother you. But you can't try and slay every damn dragon that breathes fire in his direction."

"He would do it for me," I remain steadfast. "There's nothing he wouldn't do for me; he'd chase every monster and battle every demon to the ends of the earth and back. He would move heaven and earth for me; it's time I start proving that I'd do the same thing for him."

"You don't have to prove anything to him," Chris argues. "Jesus, Bree-Anne, Donnie doesn't expect you to prove to him how much you love him. He already knows it. Every time you look at him, every time you touch him. And you know how else he knows it?"

I shake my head.

"He knows it 'cause you had his son. Regardless of what my brother had put you through, despite the fact that he didn't live up to all those promises that he made to you, you had his baby. You could have easily given Collin away; you could have been so bitter and so hurt that you could have turned your back on that kid because of what his father did to you. And you didn't. You had him and you've given him an amazing life and you've taken damn good care of him."

"I would never have gotten rid of my baby," I angrily inform him. "It wouldn't have mattered who the father was; I was keeping him whether the dad was Dean or Donnie."

"But some people wouldn't have," Chris says. "Some people would have gotten rid of the baby out of sheer spite. Dean wasn't exactly in the position to support you and a kid and my brother…well my brother screwed up huge that day at the courthouse. A lot of women would have been hurt and pissed off enough to get rid of whatever reminder they had all of the shitty times."

"The baby wasn't a reminder of the shitty times," I retort. "He was a reminder of everything that was amazing and wonderful that your brother and I shared. Collin is a part of Donnie; he was all I had of your brother for so long. I never would have gotten rid of him. No matter how sad I was or how angry or how badly Don had hurt me. I had my baby. _Our_ baby. Something we created together; that no one could ever take away from me."

"Not everyone thinks like you," Chris points out. "Not everyone looks at a baby, especially one made during a situation like that, as a blessing. And maybe that's where some of all your daddy's heavy handing preaching comes in. Some of it obviously stuck if you felt so strongly about your baby despite everything that happened. And you know what? My brother thinks the same way I do. Two peas in a pod in that sense. He knows how goddamn lucky he is and how much you love him 'cause Collin is the ultimate proof that no matter how badly he might mess up, you'll always have his back."

"Which is exactly why I won't be able to just sit back and let people talk about him and let them…"

"Bree-Anne…" Chris sighs exasperatedly. "Listen to me, hun. My brother does not need you fighting his battles. What he needs is you standing beside him while _he_ fights them. You're in such a damn fired up hurry to prove to him that you love him? Just be there for him. That's it. Just support him every step of the way. That's what my brother needs. Nothing else matters; not the gossip, not the mean shit you're going to hear. All that matters is the two of you. A united front. You and Collin are what's going to get my brother through this. And it isn't going to be easy. I'm warning you now. I've had friends go through PTSD and it's a nasty fucking bastard. And Donnie's going to go through some dark, dark times."

"I don't care," I cross my arms over my chest. "I don't care how hard it is or how mean he might get when he's in one of his moods. Because I know that's not who he is. You don't stop loving someone because they're suffering or they're not picture perfect. We're all flawed. We may be a slightly twisted and messed up family, but we're still family. And when things are good, Don and I are amazing together. We're broken; but we're still good."

A smile tugs at the corners of Chris' mouth. "You know, Junior is damn lucky to have you. A lesser woman would just walk away when the going gets tough."

"I did walk away; that day at the courthouse. And it was the worst mistake that I've ever made. Now that Donnie's back in my life…well I don't know what I've ever done to deserve another chance, but there's no way in hell I'm every walking away again. No matter how big of a bastard he might get during his down times. I love him; nothing will ever change that."

"You're a good girl, Bree-Anne," Chris presses a kiss to my forehead. "I hope my brother thanks his lucky stars every night. 'Cause we should all be so goddamn lucky."

"Now you're just kissing my ass a little _too _much," I laugh, as his hand slips from the nape of my neck to space between my shoulders and he draws me back to his side. "Are you still going to love me this much when my father paints a big old scarlet letter on my chest?" I ask, as we commence our leisurely stroll once again. "When he turfs me out his life?"

"If your father can't realize that Donnie and you belong together and you're the best things that have ever happened to one another then he doesn't deserve to have you or Collin in his life," Chris replies. "I don't understand how the hell he can condemn you for cheating on Dean when that scumbag turned out to be a thief, drug dealer and a murderer."

"Guess all of those are more forgivable than adultery," I say with a shrug.

"Well forgive me for saying this, but if your old man writes you and my nephew off 'cause you're marrying my brother? Well then he's a bigger hypocrite than I've ever given him credit for."

"Don't hold back Christopher," I laugh. "Tell me how you really feel."

"All you have to remember is that no matter what happens with your family? No matter how bad it gets? You have all us Flacks."

"I don't know whether to be flattered or terrified," I tease.

"Okay…" Chris chuckles. "Now I know we're not exactly the most normal, stable family around and we've got our issues, but we all love you and we have your back. We'll never slam the door in your face or turn on you. You must realize that by now; the way my brother just took on his whole role as daddy just like that…" he snaps his fingers. "And now my mom and dad didn't think twice about welcoming you and Collin into their house; calling themselves grandma and grandpa. Your family may not accept what you did, but we're big enough to."

I smile, and wrapping an arm around my future brother in law's waist, tuck myself tightly into his side.

It's nice to know that no matter how nasty things may get with my parents, that I still have another set to turn to.

And that I'll always have a soft place to fall.

* * *

"Wow…" Chris shakes his head as he pulls his SUV to a stop at the curb in front of my parents' house, and leaning over in the driver's seat, peers out my window. "…some things never change. Looks exactly the same way it did when you and Donnie were still going out."

"My mom and dad are creatures of habit," I say, and unbuckle my seatbelt. "My dad is huge on routine; anything upsets his apple cart and he goes right ape shit. Guess the same thing goes for his house; same shade of paint, same colour of shutters, same brass knocker on the front door…"

"How does someone so goddamn anal even function in this world?" Chris muses. "And how did he not turn you the exact same way?"

"I managed to avoid being brainwashed for the most part," I say. "I learned long ago to let most of what he says go in one ear and out the other. He's managed to turn my brothers into clones; there's no damn way I was ever letting him get to me like that."

"What about Denny? How's he…?"

"Denny is a story all himself," I gently interject, anxious to avoid the subject. "He's not getting any better; he never will. I haven't seen him in years and I…I don't know if I want to see him to be honest."

"Two of you used to be so close," Chris sighs. "I remember that whole overprotective, pig head older brother shtick he had going on when you met my brother. Donnie's lucky he even got within ten feet of you, let alone managed to ask you out and snag you as a girlfriend. If Denny had have had his way, Junior would have been the last guy on earth allowed near you."

"Denny knew it was a lost cause, I guess. I was going to be with Donnie regardless of what anyone said or how hard they tried to keep me away from him. I guess my brother just decided the battle was futile."

"A modern day version of the Montagues and the Capulets," Chris muses. "Just without the suicide at the end. You think you're going to get a hold of Denny and tell him about the wedding? I'm sure he'd like to know that his baby sister is getting hitched. Maybe that place could let him out for the day and…"

"It's just better that he doesn't know," I say. "The way he is and the way he acts…it's just better that he keeps his distant. That I just stay away and we both live our separate lives. That isn't my brother anymore, Chris. It hasn't been my brother for a long time."

"You know, that's really funny…" he gives a dry laugh. "Half an hour ago we were talking about my brother and his issues and his suffering and you went on and on about how you don't stop loving someone just 'cause they're going through some hard shit. You said yourself that it didn't matter to you what a bastard Donnie got during one of his down periods and that you'd never turn your back on him no matter how tough things got."

"Is there a point in this or…?"

"My point is that you say one thing when it comes to my brother and an entirely different thing when it comes to yours. How is it you can stand by my brother and love him no matter what, but when it comes down to Denny you're so quick to shut him out? He's still your brother; doesn't matter what that accident did to him."

"He's not my brother," I argue. "At all. He hasn't been the same since the accident and he…"

"He may not be the same physically or mentally, but he's still the same here," Chris lays a hand over his heart. 'He's still your brother, Bree-Anne; nothing can take away from how tight the two of you were and how much he loves you."

A smirk plays at the corners of my mouth. "Why do you Flacks have to always make so much sense? How come you're always right in situations like this? Were you all born like this? Was it a gift?"

"A blessing and curse," Chris laughs. "It's funny; we can solve other peoples' problem but totally suck ass when it comes to getting a grip on our own. How messed up is that?"

"That's because you're all too damn proud and stubborn to ask for help," I tell him. "You all hate to admit that you're weak; you'd rather suffer silently then let your guard down. Donnie's a shit head for that; he's got it in his head that he can save everyone and that anything that happens to someone he loves is his fault. Yet he can barely look me in the eye and admit that he isn't always as tough as he seems. I don't care how bad ass he thinks he is or that he needs to be; I just want him to be okay."

"And he will be," Chris gives a confident nod. "He's got a lot of support. And you and that boy of his to come home to; something worth living for. No way in hell he's going to screw that up. You just make sure he treats you right, okay? You make sure you keep him in line. He ever steps out of it, you let me know. I'll knock him around; teach him a lesson."

"You'll be the first person I talk to when he needs a good ass kicking," I promise, and then reach for the door handle.

"And seriously take into consideration about what I said about your brother," Chris says, as I push open the door and step out onto the curb. "I'm sure that Denny would love to hear about you and Donnie. Even if he has a hard time showing it, he does love you Bree-Anne. Just think about it, okay?"

"I will," I tell him, and shut the door. "Thanks for lunch; and the pep talk."

"I'm a pro when it comes to cheeseburgers, fries and ego boosters," he says with a wink. "You need anything, you just call over to my parents, okay? Things get nasty over here…"

"I will call," I promise. "Thanks for the ride."

"I'm going to see if I can track down my big brother; catch up on last time. And I'm dying to meet that nephew of mine. Kind of scared though."

"Why's that?" I ask, perplexed.

"Mom says he's a spitting image of Donnie; inside and out. Last goddamn thing this earth needs is a replica of my brother."

"Well if it makes you feel any better, Collin got everything that is beautiful and wonderful from his mother," I say.

"Like there was ever a doubt in that," Chris chuckles, and then gives me a wave as I step back from the curb and putting the SUV into drive, slowly pulls away.

Sighing heavily, I push the strap of my purse further up onto my shoulder and slowly turn towards my parents' house. Both of their vehicles are parked in the driveway yet both the screen door and the heavy wooden one behind it are shut tight. Not a welcoming sign; usually when they're expecting visitors they leave the screen open and the interior entrance unlocked, a silent offer to just 'come on in'.

_Now or never_, I think, and journey across the front grass; relegating myself to the fact that I can't spend the rest of my life running away and hiding from every adversity and unsettling experience I'll come up against. It's not as if I'm walking into the house delivering terrible news; it's quite possibly the best news that I've ever been saddled with in a hell of a long time. Most parents would be ecstatic that not only had their daughter been reunited with the love of their life, but was finally going to get the happily ever after that she had been dreaming about for so long.

But I know my parents; both remain steadfast in the belief that no matter how horrible things get and no matter what problems a couple may face, marriage vows are set and stone and should never be broken. I'd effectively gone ahead and not only cheated on Dean, but had had a baby with another man and had gotten divorced. It didn't matter to them that my ex husband was quite possible the biggest dickhead on the face of the earth; a woman stood by her man and that was that. And I'd had the nerve to buck the trend that had existed in my family, and in countless others, for years.

Climbing the front steps, I take a deep breath and releasing it slowly, steel myself for whatever I may encounter once I cross the threshold. And yanking open the screen, I hold it with my shoulder and wrapping my fingers around the handle of the door, turn it to the left, give it a firm push and…

Find it locked.

Frowning, I rummage through my purse for my keys; naturally they've slipped to the very bottom and I have to dig through mountains of useless shit in order to locate them. Muttering curses, my fingertips brush against cold metal and I yank the items in question out of my back and quickly select the proper key out of several.

And then find it impossible to slip it into the lock.

"What the fuck!" I snap; realization quickly setting in that my worst fears have come true. My parents have already begun shutting me out. Starting with changing the lock on the front door. "This is bullshit," I mumble through the haze of hot tears that threaten, and clenching my left hand into a tight fist, hammer repeatedly on the door while I lay my right index finger on the doorbell.

It's several minutes before there's signs of life from inside the house, lifting my finger from the bell and seizing my pounding on the door as I hear the soft padding of feet on the tiles in the foyer and then the scrapping off a chain as it's drawn across wood, followed by the snap of a deadbolt. Thirty seconds later the door opens, revealing my mother, clad in blue jeans and a simple white t-shirt, her vibrant red hair cropped close to her head and her normally brilliant blue eyes dark and sullen.

"You're late," she says in way of greeting, and stepping back from the door, motions for me to enter.

"I said that I'd be here between two thirty and three," I defend myself, and step into the foyer.

"It's five to," she informs me, and then turns her face away when I attempt to kiss her cheek. "Your father's already in a horrible mood. Did you really need to go and make it worse?" she asks, letting the door slam behind us.

"I got caught up finishing off Collin's room," I reply. "I just lost track of time. I didn't intentionally try to piss daddy off even more. And what the hell is his issue? You would have thought a trip to paradise and a couple bottles of Viagra would have had him coming back here in an extremely good mood."

"Don't push your luck Bree-Anne," my mother says. "You've already dumped a whole pile of shit on us; don't make it ten times worse by being a disrespectful brat."

I hold my hands up in surrender, then follow my mom out of the foyer and out into the living room. "I don't know why you're both acting like this. You would think I just killed your best friend or kicked your dog…" my words trail off, eyes widening at the sight of a dozen plastic Rubber Maid tote boxes and several green garbage bags sitting in the middle of the room. All of the containers and the bags had small pieces of paper taped to them, each bearing either mine or Collin's name. "Are you kidding me?" I train my furious eyes on my mother's unapologetic face. "You're kicking me out?"

"You're already living somewhere else," she points out. "Your dad just thought he'd help out with the last of the packing."

"Bullshit!" I snap. "He just thought that he'd teach me a lesson and make himself feel like he has the upper hand by tossing me out before I have the chance to tell him I'm leaving! Because he's so goddamn holier than thou and thinks he's so perfect! I had to leave mom! Phil got nasty with me and he was going to hurt Collin and …"

"And you had to turn your back on him and take of just like you did to Dean," she finishes.

"Dean was mean and vicious and abusive!" I hiss. "He stole drugs from an NYPD raid and he was selling them on the street! He killed an innocent kid and removed the bullets from his wounds so he wouldn't get caught! Is that really the kind of person I should have stayed with mom? Is that the kind of stellar son in law you really wanted?"

"If you hadn't have cheated on him, maybe he wouldn't have turned out the way he did," she reasons.

"I cheated on him because I didn't love him! Because he treated me like shit and I was in love with someone else and I'd made a horrible mistake even marrying Dean in the first place! And maybe I didn't go about things the right way. Maybe I should have left him before I started seeing Donnie…"

"And maybe you should have held firm to your vows and never got involved with Don again in the first place," she interrupts. "If you'd just tried to work things out with Dean…"

"You're impossible!" I huff. "You always have been! I am just so sick of your whole Tammy Wynette 'Stand By Your Man' bullshit!"

"You were never able to stay away from him," my mother continues, ignoring me entirely. "Even when you were a teenager you couldn't just leave him alone. You couldn't just say no to him when he was convincing you to go against everything we taught you and you…"

"And I what?" I bellow. "And I slept with him? I lost my virginity to him? Who gives a shit?! So I wasn't the perfect, innocent daughter that you so desperately wanted to be! But you know what else I wasn't mother? What I'm not even now? I'm not some weak, pathetic excuse for a woman that will stay with a man that doesn't even love her! Who'd rather uphold some stupid fucking vow she took then make herself happy! Who can't even realize that the only reason her husband stays with her is because they had kids and he thinks God will condemn him he leaves! Does that sound like someone you know?! Does it remind you of anyone?!"

My mother's lips purse together tightly and her eyes flash with anger. And before I can react she's bringing her right hand across my cheek in a hard, vicious slap; the sound echoing throughout the entire house.

Tears blur my vision as I raise a trembling hand to my cheek. It seems as if my mother and I stand there for an eternity; the silence near deafening. It's all too painfully clear on whose side she's taking; there's nothing I can say or do that's going to change her mind. Nothing that will ever see her supporting me; all my life it's been that way. It's always been what my father wants; what he says goes. Only now I have the power to do something about it. I'm not that scared, vulnerable little girl anymore that needs her parents to take care of her. I'm strong and confident; a mother, a soon to be wife. I can finally take charge and I have the courage to do what I've longed to for so long.

Simply turn around and walk away.

And that's exactly what I do.

For good.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and even just lurking! I appreciate all of the support!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Afrozenheart412**

**CSINYMinute**

**Andorian Ice Princess -AIP**

**ParaCaerOuVoar **

**Woodland Flower (Forest Angel)**

**xSamiliciousx**

**wolfeylady**

**x3Sunnydaay**

**Dantana MM**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Dreamer Child 88**


	35. Blood Brothers

**DISCLAIMER: SAME AS THE OTHER CHAPTERS**

**SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, REAL LIFE'S BEEN A LITTLE CRAZY! HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY!**

* * *

**Blood Brothers**

"We played king of the mountain out on the end  
The world come chargin' up the hill, and we were women and men  
Now there's so much that time, time and memory fade away  
We got our own roads to ride and chances we gotta take  
We stood side by side each one fightin' for the other  
We said until we died we'd always be blood brothers

Now the hardness of this world slowly grinds your dreams away  
Makin' a fool's joke out of the promises we make  
And what once seemed black and white turns to so many shades of gray  
We lose ourselves in work to do and bills to pay  
And it's a ride, ride, ride, and there ain't much cover  
With no one runnin' by your side my blood brother

On through the houses of the dead past those fallen in their tracks  
Always movin' ahead and never lookin' back  
Now I don't know how I feel, I don't know how I feel tonight  
If I've fallen 'neath the wheel, if I've lost or I've gained sight  
I don't even know why, I don't know why I made this call  
Or if any of this matters anymore after all

But the stars are burnin' bright like some mystery uncovered  
I'll keep movin' through the dark with you in my heart."  
-Blood Brothers, Bruce Springsteen

* * *

**Flack's POV**

"Daddy…" Collin pipes up from the backseat of my SUV, where he's firmly secured in his car seat, a small, open plastic container of dried Fruit Loops between his legs and a drinking box of fruit punch in his hands. Just getting used to the magic of 'juse oxes' as he calls them, my son has a bad habit of squeezing the damn things too tight, resulting in the liquid squirting out of the straw and showering him and everything and anything within at least half a foot. Currently, his lips, teeth and tongue are stained bright red, and there's a coordinating stain down the front of his yellow t-shirt.

He'd been exhausted after our shopping excursion and our visit to lab. Not to mention an impromptu play date with Lucy. Lindsay had taken the kids across the street to the dollar store that had opened only a week ago, filling two baskets with toys and treats and then sitting outside on a bench and entertaining them with a bottle of bottles she'd purchased. Collin had fallen asleep in his stroller on the way home; too tired to worry about looking for trolls or amusing fellow subway riders with his incessant chatter. Now he's ready and raring to go, having his afternoon snack and drink while listening to his favourite Doodle Bops CD on the car stereo as we make the pilgrimage to my folks' place.

"What buddy?" I ask, casting a glance at my son through the rear view mirror.

"I hads a bad dweem last night," he replies. "I hads a bad dweem about da man with da scary face. Dat's he comes when you and mum-mum are sweepin' and takes me away," he takes a sip of his fruit punch and swallows noisily before adding, "And dats he eated me!"

Collin's nightmare -he'd woken up screaming loud enough to stir the dead shortly before two in the morning- had been a direct result of him wandering silently into the living room three hours before -he'd begged and pleaded to sleep in mommy and daddy's bed until it was time for us to go night-nights- and catching the middle of a news report regarding Hollis Eckhart's upcoming trial. Breezy and I hadn't even known Collin was standing behind the couch until a picture of the Compass Killer, horrific facial injuries and all, had flashed the screen and our son had let out a blood curdling shriek of sheer terror before both wetting his pants and dissolving into tears. It had been up to me to clean the mess on the floor; every little boy wants their mommy when in distress and he'd practically dove at his mother when she hurried to calm him down. I'd been in complete awe of Breezy. The way she'd gently and patiently comforted him, never raising her voice as she tenderly kissed his tears away and picked him up and rocked him back and forth as if he were still a baby. And I'd been hit with a slight tinge of sadness; seeing her standing there, swaying back and forth as she smiled lovingly down at our son and spoke to him in a delicate, soothing voice. It had made me think about how it would have looked three years ago, watching from the doorway of his nursery as Breezy cuddled and rocked our newborn baby boy.

She'd finally crawled into bed alongside of me in the wee hours of the morning; emotionally and physically spent from having snuggled the night away with Collin in his nest. It had finally been our turn to do a little cuddling; too tired to do anything else but lie in the warm confines of our bed with my arms wrapped around her while she pressed herself tight against my chest, her head tucked under my chin. I'd told her that seeing her with Collin, how patient and compassionate she was, had only elevated my respect and love for her to an even higher level. Something that I'd never dreamed possible.

"Is da scary man gonna come and take me away?" Collin asks. "Is he gonna come when you and mum-mum is sweeping and eat me, daddy?"

"The scary man is somewhere where he can't hurt anymore people," I reply. "He's sick and he's in a place where he's getting help; so he won't be scary anymore."

"Sick?" my son inquires. "What kind of sick, daddy? Cough due to cold?"

I can't help but chuckle, and I lean forward to turn down the volume on the stereo. "Not that kind of sick," I attempt to explain in the best way possible; it's hard for me to grasp, never mind a three year old. "Something really bad happened to him a while ago. He lost someone that he really loved and it made him heart sick."

"Was it his mommy?" Collin inquires. "Was it his mommy that got lost? When I get lost at that Wal-Mart, mum-mum was really scared and she thought that a bad man had taken me away. But a nice lady took me to da lost and found. If his mommy is lost maybe he can look in da lost and found, too."

"It wasn't his mommy," I say. "It was his wife and something bad happened to her. And there's no lost and found that he can go to."

"Is she in heaven?" my son asks. "Is she in heaven with all da angels and God? Mum-mum says dat when people are old and sick they go to heaven. Is dat where she is?"

"That's where she is," I confirm. "And when she went to heaven it made him really, really, really sad. That's what heartsick means. And he wasn't able to get over what happened to her and he went…" Christ, how do I explain Hollis Eckhart to my three-year-old boy? Terms like 'post traumatic stress disorder' and 'schizophrenia' will be totally lost on him. And suffering from my own mental issues has given me a whole new perspective regarding some of the perps I deal with. Branding them with terms like crazy, psycho or unhinged is just like the pot calling the kettle black. "He got really angry when his wife went to heaven," I finally say. "So angry that he did bad things to nice people. But you don't have to worry about him; he can't come and take you away. He can't hurt anyone anymore, okay?"

"Okay," Collin gives a vigorous nod.

"Mommy and I would never let anything bad happen to you," I assure him, as we coast to a stop at a red light. "There's nothing that we wouldn't do to keep you safe. There's nothing to ever be scared about when mommy and I are around. And Luna too," I glance into the backseat and nod down at the puppy curled up on her favourite blanket -with her beloved chew toy within reach- alongside of the car seat. "She would never, ever let anything happen to her best buddy. Would you, Luna."

At the mention of her name, she raises her head, perks her ears and turns her face into my palm as I attempt to pet her; thoroughly bathing my hand in saliva.

"Luna is da best dog in da entire world," Collin declares. "'Cept when she chews on mum-mum's shoes and pee-pees on da floor."

"She's just a baby still," I reason, cleaning my hand off on the leg of my cargo shorts before turning my attention back to the road. "Babies do silly things sometimes."

"But I'm not a baby," my son says. "And I pee-peed on da floor. I didn't mean to, daddy. I didn't mean to make a mess. Is mum-mum going to send me away 'cause I'm bad?"

"You aren't bad," I tell him. "And mommy would never, ever send you away."

"One time at Uncle Bobby's house, I had to go potty real bad and mum-mum just had pull-ups and the potty was really far away and I pee-peed on da floor and Uncle Bobby got real mad! He yelled at mum-mum and called her stupid. He said she was a bad mommy and she started to cry. She's not a bad mommy; she's a nice mommy."

It doesn't surprise me at all that Robert Dunbrook would say something so goddamn asinine. But it does give me a bizarre sense of satisfaction that my son managed to piss all over what I can only hope was a ridiculously expensive Persian rug.

"If mum-mum goes to heaven I'd be real sad," Collin suddenly announces. "Would you be sad? If mum-mum goes to heaven?" he asks.

"Very sad," I reply, although two simple words come nowhere close to the hell I'd suffer if something ever happened to Breezy. If she was ever taken away from me after everything we've already been through, I'd lose whatever shred of sanity is still left inside of me.

There's no way in hell I'd ever get over something like that; she doesn't just have my heart, she is my heart. And if she ever left, whether it be on her own free will or by the hand of God or an outside force, I'd never cope. I can't help but feel slightly guilty about being able to get over Jess; it had been a long, dark struggle but I'd still managed to deal with and accept it. Breezy is another story altogether; her departure would destroy me. And I can still remember how it had been her that had first crossed my mind that day when we'd apprehended Eckhart and Mac had 'bonded' with him over the shared tragedy of losing someone you loved. I had wanted to put my two cents in; that I too knew what it was like to have the person I loved more than life itself ripped away from me. Only I'd kept quiet; disgusted with myself when I realized that it wasn't Jess' death that haunted me the most, but the moment Breezy had walked out of my life.

I'd come close to getting in touch with her that night; painfully close, in fact. After I'd left the restaurant following the team dinner, I'd driven all the way to Queens and had parked across the street from her parents' house for nearly an hour. I'd sat behind the wheel, engine and lights turned off to avoid attracting the neighbours' attention, staring across the street as the light in Breezy's bedroom burned bright. Every so often her figure would pass in front of the window, a silhouette behind the lace curtains; a brief glimpse of her causing me to loose my breath and my heart to pound furiously in my chest. I'd been dying to see her; there'd be no words to express how desperately I had needed her. How badly I'd wanted to lose myself in her; to bury my face in her hair as she held me in her arms and confess all of my secrets and tell her how much I'd missed her. How big of a mistake I'd made letting her go. How much I still loved her.

I'd never gotten out of that car. And I often wonder how different things would have been if I had; what our lives would be like if I'd never let another eight months pass by before showing up on her doorstep again.

"Daddy?" Collin's tiny voice snaps me out of my reverie just as the light turns green, and I switch my foot from brake to gas. "How comes I don't go to pee-school?"

"Because you're going to be going to a different place soon," I tell him, as I cast a glance at him through the rear view mirror. There's an expression of intense concentration on his face -eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, lips set in a firm line- as he busies himself with laying Fruit Loops, one at a time, along his thighs, separating them by colour. "Once mommy goes back to work, you'll be going to day care. With Lucy."

Collin's head snaps up and his eyes grow impossibly wide with excitement. "With Lucy?" he asks. "At da same place? Weely?"

I nod in confirmation.

He lets out of a shriek that can only be described as ear piercing. "How comes I get to go to da school with Lucy?" he asks, and returns to playing with the pieces of cereal laid along his legs. "How comes I don't go to da other school?"

"Mommy and I didn't think you should go there anymore," I explain.

It's half the truth, I didn't approve of my son attending a place like that, where he was almost being forced to pretend that he was something he wasn't. The thought of him surrounded by the upper crust -children of high profile attorneys, politicians, judges and doctors- and being taught at such a tender age to look down on the 'every day man' and the blue collared folk, makes me sick to my stomach. I'd always been taught by my parents to be proud of who I am, regardless of social status or how much money I have in the bank. And it's important that my son is brought up with those same values. And even if I didn't have a problem with him attending the facility, Dunbrook had already had his lawyer send Breezy a letter informing her that Collin's 'financial assistance' had been taken away. And our combined monthly salaries simply aren't enough to pay the pricey tuition.

"How comes?" he inquires.

"Well…" I chew on my bottom lip and attempt to come up with a toddler friendly explanation. I certainly didn't want to get into the money issue and I didn't want to bash Dunbrook or Phil in front of my son. I'm not that kind of guy; adult talk is just that and Collin doesn't need to be burdened by my hate and bitterness. "We just thought that you'd be happy somewhere else," I tell him. "That you'd like to go to the same place as Lucy. So you guys can play together all the time."

"Lucy's my girlfriend," he informs me.

"I know," I grin. "You tell me that about fifty times a day. And wouldn't it be nice to see your girlfriend all the time? You wouldn't have to wait until the weekend to see her? Don't you think that's pretty cool? That you'll get to see her every day?"

"I 'spose," Collin says. "But what if I gets sick of seeing her every day?"

"Why would you get sick of seeing her every day? I see your mommy every day and I don't get sick of seeing her."

"'Cause Uncle Buddy says dat yous get sick of a girl if yous see her every day," my son explains. "I don't wants to get sick of Lucy."

"I think what Adam…Uncle Buddy…" I quickly correct myself. "…meant to say is that girls get sick of seeing him every day. How could you get sick of seeing Lucy? Aren't you madly in love with her?"

"Yeah…but whats if when I gets big I wants to have two girlfriends?" he asks curiously.

"Two girlfriends at the same time?"

He nods.

"Well there's only one thing I can tell you if think you can get away with something like that," I say with a chuckle. "And that's good luck. Trust me, when you get older and you're ready to have a girlfriend, you'll only want to have one. And girls like the idea of being the only one in your life."

"But whats about da picture, daddy? Whats about the pwetty girl in da picture? Is dat your other girlfriend?"

"I don't have another girlfriend," I tell him, cursing myself for leaving the photograph of Angell lying about, and marvelling at Collin for even remembering about it more than a week later. "Just mommy; she's the only girl I want."

"But whats about da picture?" he isn't going to let me get away without answering.

"That's just something that I…" I sigh heavily and choose my words carefully. "…that's a girlfriend I used to have. Before your mommy and I ever got back together; before I came back fro vacation to get you and mommy."

"Is she not your girlfriend anymore 'cause of me?" he asks. "Is dat why she's not your girlfriend?"

"You have nothing to do with it," I assure him. "If she still had have been around when I found out about you, she would have loved you. Trust me. But she…well…she's in heaven now."

"She's an angel too?" Collin asks. "How comes she goes to heaven? Was she sick?"

"Something bad happened to her," I explain. "Something bad happened and no one could make her better and she went to heaven."

"Dat's sad," my son declares, and I nod in agreement. "What if something bad happen to you, daddy? Will the doctor be able to make you all better so you don't go to heaven, too? 'Cause I be sad if yous go to heaven."

"I'm not going anywhere," I promise. "Not for a really, really, really long time. Okay? Don't ever worry about something like that, Collin. Daddy's going to be around for a long while still. I'm not going anywhere. Kapish?"

"Ka-peesh," he says with a firm nod, and just as easily as all the questions began, he effortlessly returns to his treat and his drinking box. He's satisfied with my answers and reassurances.

I just wish I didn't have that nagging feeling in my gut that things seem too good to be true.

* * *

"Well look what the cat dragged in," my brother Chris greets, as he sits on the top step of my parents' front porch, a bottle of beer sitting to his left, a massive gift bag with pictures of various Sesame Street characters decorating it on the right. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

"When I got your email about wanting to get together I didn't think you were talking about ASAP," I tell him, as I journey up the driveway, Collin's backpack slung over my shoulder and his tiny hand clasped tightly in mine as Luna bounces excitedly across the patch of grass in front of the house.

""Figured there was no time like the present," Chris says, as he stands up and makes his way down the steps. "Got rid of the wife and the kids for the day so I figured I'd make the trip into Queens. You look good, Donnie," he reaches out and pulls me into a tight hug. "A lot better than the last time I saw you," he adds, kissing both of my cheeks before releasing me from his embrace and slapping me playfully in the stomach. "Good to see your putting some of that weight back on. You looked like shit the last time we talked."

"Dats a bad word," Collin pipes up. "Mum-mum says dat you gets your mouth washed out with soap for saying da S word."

"Trust me kid, your mother could make a drunken sailor blush when she really gets going," Chris says with a grin, and then drops to one knee in front of us. "How's it going, little man? Collin, right? That's your name?"

"Collin Alexander Truby," my son confirms. "But daddy says dat my last name will be Flack soon. Like his. 'Cause dats my real name."

"Well I'm a Flack too," my brother tells him. "I'm your daddy's brother, Chris. So that makes me your uncle. How cool is that? You getting to meet all these new people? A grandpa and grandma you never knew about, now an uncle. That's pretty neat, huh?"

Collin nods in agreement.

"I brought you some things," Chris says, and still on his knees, turns around to grab the gift bag off of the porch. "To make up for all of them Christmases and birthdays we never got to spend together. Your dad was telling me the other day that you like policemen and firemen."

"Daddy's a peas-man," the toddler announces proudly. "A special peas-man. A defective."

"He's pretty defective all right," Chris teases me. "Did your old man tell you about how I'm a fireman?"

"You are?" Collin's eyes widen. "Weally?"

"Really," my brother says. "And us firemen have this really cool store and I went in there this morning to buy you some things."

"Do you have a pole to slid down?" Collin asks. "To gets to your fire twuck?"

"Where I work I do," his uncle replies. "Would you like to come and visit sometime? Would you like to come and see where I work? I bet you'd be allowed to slide down the pole. And put on some equipment. I bet you'd even to get wear some bonafide firemen clothes and play with the dog."

"Yous got a dog too?" Collin gives a small shriek of happiness. "I's got a dog! Her name's Luna!"

"And she's a real pretty dog too," Chris says. "We have a Dalmatian at the fire station. His name is Jack. Would you like to come and see him sometime? I bet if you're a real good boy your mom and dad will bring you by for a visit."

"Can we go to da fire place?" Collin asks me, tugging at the leg of my shorts, his big blue eyes hopefully. "Can we daddy? Pweese?"

"I'll take you down to visit next week," I tell him. "On my day off. Okay?"

"Can mommy and Luna come too?" he asks Chris.

"Of course they can. Luna and Jack can be friends. Who knows, maybe they'll even become really close _friends _and have puppies."

"Luna can't be a mommy!" Collin giggles. "She's a baby still!"

"Jack likes them young," my brother reasons, and I shoot him a glare. "How about you go and take that bag inside little man and get the grumpy bastard…I mean grandpa…to help you go through all the stuff. I think the old coot is waiting on pins and needles for you anyway. He's already got the peanut butter cookies out and he's refusing to share. Usually it's his JD he's so damn protective of…"

"Tank you!" Collin cries, and struggles to pick up the heavy bag.

"Don't mention," Chris journeys up the front porch, and opening up the screen door, holds it open for his nephew. "I've got a lot of years to make up for; hopefully that stuff will be the start of it."

"I's don't need no presents," my son says, as he journeys into the house. "Just lots of hugs and kisses. I loves them best."

"Well you'll be getting a hell of a lot of those," Chris chuckles, and then shuts the door and turns back to me, shaking his head in disbelief. "Breezy's raised that little boy right, huh? What kid would actually say something like that?"

"She's taught him that materialistic things aren't what's important," I say, as I take a seat on the top step. "Guess she's been drilling it into him since he was old enough to talk that there was more to live than what people could buy you."

"Girl's always had a huge heart," my brother observes, as he sinks down onto the cement beside me. "Almost too huge for her own good. Spent years lying just to protect other people and make them happy. No one should have to do something like that."

"She didn't have to do it," I remind him. "She didn't have to hide Collin from anyone. She knows damn well that I would have dropped everything to take care of the two of them. I never would have turned them away. You don't do that to someone you love."

"And she did what she did 'cause she loved you," Chris points out. "She knew the kind of hell you were going through over busting Dean and the fact the shit hit the fan about you in her in a very public way. I'm not condoning what she did, Don. I wish she had have told you about having a son and spared you a whole world of hurt. But you know what? I understand why she did it. I get why she felt the need to protect you. And your son."

"But she could have…"

"If anything it should make you respect her and love her even more," he interjects. "That she would sacrifice her own happiness just to make sure your life didn't become an even bigger mess than what it was. You think she's proud of herself? For lying to everyone that a convicted murderer was the father of her kid? It eats at her; it'll eat at her for the rest of her life. And you should be telling her that she doesn't need to feel that way. That you get why she did it and that you love her regardless."

"I do love her regardless," I defend myself. "I wouldn't be with her if I didn't. I wouldn't be planning on marrying if I didn't love her."

"You feeling it and you saying the words to her are two totally different things," my brother says. "And don't sit here and lie to me and say that a small part of you isn't totally pissed off and resentful of her. I know you, Don. Very well. And you're human and you can't turn off that sensitivity chip that you've been trying to hide from everyone all your life."

"Did you come here to do this?" I ask, simmering with annoyance. "Did you come here to track me down and preach to me? To counsel me? I don't need a goddamn priest, Chris. You're my brother; not my therapist."

He holds his hands up in surrender. "All I'm saying is that you're not the perfect person either. You've made some huge, dumb ass mistakes in your time. And no one is holding that over your head. You don't see Breezy holding grudges for all the shitty things you did to her, do you?"

I shake my head.

"You both fucked up. A lot. But you guys love each other. You love each other and you made this amazing, beautiful little boy together. Concentrate on the years ahead of you, Don. Not on the years you've lost. 'Cause if you do that? If you let that small bitter part of you grow and grow and grow? You'll destroy something incredible before it gets the chance to get off the ground."

I sigh heavily, then reach for my brother's half-empty bottle of beer and raise it to my lips. "Where'd you get your degree, Doctor Phil?" I inquire. "When did you become so damn all knowing and wise?"

"Don't be such a fucking smart ass," he grumbles, and then snatches the beer from my hand before I can take a sip. "You are not falling back into old habits," he informs me, and downs the remains of the booze. "I am not letting that happen. I won't let you get back into the bottle. Only people that will suffer from that are Collin and Breezy. And I'll be goddamned it you fuck them over like that."

"It's half a beer," I retort. "Half a beer would not have seen me falling off the wagon."

"One sip is one too many," he insists. "There's always that danger and you know it. You hit rock bottom once, Donnie. And I don't know the whole story behind what happened. I only heard the rumours about you getting mugged and having the shit kicked out of you 'cause you were three sheets to the wind on the subway. And that you ended up at some ex-con's house or some shit like that. You would think that ending up like that would have scared you; prevent you from letting it happen again."

"I'm not where near the way I was a year ago," I inform him. "I was a mess; a huge fucking mess. And I pulled up my big boy pants and started dealing with my shit after that. And half a bottle of Bud would not have…"

"I'm not taking any chances, understand me? This isn't about you. A year ago when mom and dad and I were all busting our ass trying to get you help, that was about you. But now? Now it's all about keeping Breezy and Collin safe. I don't want anything happening to them. I don't want you slipping and them paying for it. Plain and simple."

"I'd never do anything to hurt them," I insist. "I love them too much to ever do anything to them."

"Love doesn't have anything to do with this," Chris says. "It's a demon, Don. The bottle is a demon. And dad and the way he was all of our lives forced that demon inside of us. You know how at risk we are 'cause of him and his struggles. You know how it all started out so good and then he got into the booze and our lives went straight to hell. Dad wasn't always like that and you know it. He didn't always beat on mom and us. He didn't always have bookies on his ass, busting into the house in the middle of the night. Things were normal; the booze is what made him become a monster. He couldn't control it. And you wouldn't be able to control it either."

"Dad and I are two totally different people," I mutter.

"You and dad are exactly alike," he argues. "And I'm not talking about being wife and kid beaters. I'm talking about this steadfast devotion to the badge. I'm talking about how tenacious you are. How goddamn stubborn you can be. You're a Flack, Don. And I know that sometimes it's not the easiest thing in the world to admit. But you are. And you owe it to Breezy and Collin to be the best goddamn Flack this family has ever seen. You've got a son. Stay on the straight and narrow for him. Be the dad you always wanted our old man to be. Show him that good men are proud and strong. That they love and don't go running for the bottle the second things turn rough. Do it for him; be the type of father that ours couldn't be."

I nod slowly, allowing his words to sink in. "I'm scared," I admit. "I'm scared that I'm getting Breezy's hopes up. That I'm promising her all these things and I won't be able to follow through. That I'll do something to completely mess things up. I don't want to lose her again," I sigh and rake a hand through my hair. "I can't lose her again."

"You won't," my brother promises, and lays a comforting hand on my shoulder. "And you know what? It's okay to be a little scared; being scared is what's gonna keep you together. It's going to be what keeps you from wandering off the path. If you keep thinking that way, that she'll walk if you mess up? That will stop you from doing something stupid."

"I just want to be what _she_ wants me to be," I say.

"She just wants you to be yourself," Chris tells me. "That's all she wants. That's all she needs. She's never asked for anything else, has she? She's never demanded you be someone you aren't? She hasn't told you she wants you to change?"

I shake my head.

"She just wants you to be yourself," he repeats. "But she wants you to a healthy, strong version of yourself. And it's what she needs."

"I just hope I can give her what she needs," I fret.

"She trusts you Don. She loves you. She wouldn't be marrying you ever after all the bullshit if she didn't. She has faith in you."

"Sometimes too much," I say.

"You can never believe in someone too much," Chris tells me. "Or love someone too much."

I nod in agreement.

"And at the risk of sounding like a fruit, I love you and I believe in you," he presses a kiss to my cheek and slaps me on the back before standing up. "Now how about we get our asses in there?" he jerks a thumb over his shoulder towards the house. "I want to spend as much time with that nephew of mine as possible."

I get to my feet as well and cross the porch to where he's holding the screen open.

"There is something I don't get though," Chris says, a frown covering his face as he allows me to slip past him and then pauses in the doorway. "Something you have to explain to me."

"What's that?"

"How did a shmuck like you ever get a kid that cute and smart?" he asks. "How'd you ever manage the impossible?"

I can't help but grin. "Gets all the amazing stuff from his mommy, I guess."

"Thank God for that," he chuckles.

"Get your ass in there," I order, and shove him into the house.

"Ma!" my brother bellows. "Your angels are home! Now feed us!"

"Spawns of Satan are more like it!" she retorts from the kitchen. "Both of you were hellions growing up? Did I ever tell you about the time you two…"

"Here we go," I roll my eyes. "Another one of her stories."

"Good to see some things never change," Chris says. "And that other things change for the better."

I smile as he tousles my hair affectionately.

It's going to be a long road. I'm nowhere near a hundred percent, but I know I'll get there.

With my kid brother tagging along for the ride.

* * *

**Massive thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! And even just lurking! I truly appreciate all of the support!!!!**

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	36. Last Night

**DISCLAIMER: SAME AS CHAPTERS BEFORE**

**A/N: SORRY FOR THE LONG DELAY. MY LAP TOP DIED AND I'M WORKING ON A LOANER UNTIL IT'S FIXED. AND THAT ON TOP OF CHRISTMAS AND REAL LIFE ISSUES…I JUST HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS CHAPTER! IT'S A SHORTER ONE, BUT I DIDN'T WANT OTHER SCENES WITH OTHER CHARACTERS TAKING AWAY FROM IT!**

**The Last Night**

"Your parents say that everything is your fault,  
but they don't know you like I do,  
they don't know you at all.  
I'm so sick of when they say it's just a phase, you'll be okay, you're fine,  
But I know it's a lie.  
This is the last night you'll spend alone,  
I'll wrap you in my arms and I won't let go.  
I'm everything you need me to be.  
The last night away from me."  
-Last Night, Skillet

* * *

**_Bree-Anne's POV_**

Laying the pad of my thumb over the END button on my cell phone, I disconnect the frantic and emotional phone call I'd placed to my future in laws. Closing my eyes, I tilt my face upwards the brilliant sunshine that bathes the front yard and the porch where I sit on the top step, my arms wrapped around my knees as I tuck them tight to my chest. What had started out as a beautiful summer day had spiraled quickly out of control; the melodic chirping of the birds in the surrounding trees and the refreshing breeze that tickles my face seem horrifically overshadowed by the darkness and despair that hang over me. The only thing that is registering through the fog that shrouds both my mind and body is the ache inhabiting the side of my face. My cheek is swollen and red from my mother's slap and bears a slight cut under my eye from when on of her rings tore into my skin. But nothing can possibly compare to the agony that constricts my heart and lungs and makes it nearly impossible to draw breath.

Behind me, the screen door clicks open and I glance over my shoulder as my father appears in the doorway; hands planted firmly on his hips and his mouth set in a grim line as he observes me with obvious disgust and disappointment. I open my mouth to speak. To beg and plead with him to at least take the time to hear my side of the story and to listen to my reasons and explanations for making the decisions regarding mine and Collin's futures. I refuse to apologize for my choices; I love Donnie and have wanted nothing more than to spend my life with him since the time I was sixteen years old and realizing I was hopelessly and desperately in love for real. All I want is to be his wife, for us to finally get the chance to jointly raise our son and to build a family together. I shouldn't feel the need to say I'm sorry for following my heart for once. For nearly four years I've put my own happiness on the backburner out of fear of being an utter disappointment and embarrassment to my parents and brothers. All that I'd concentrated on had been protecting Collin and Donnie from the gossip and possible retribution that my baby's real parentage would bring about. Fear and shame had forced me to lie to not just everyone around me, but to myself. And I simply can't live like that anymore. I've robbed Collin of a father for far too long and I'd single handily prevented Donnie from experiencing not only a pregnancy he'd played a major role in, but the subsequent delivery and the first two and a half years of his son's life. I can never take that back; no amount of apologies or atoning can bring back all the precious time that had been lost. All I can do know is build on the future, on making our lives as strong and stable and wonderful as possible. I'm through worrying about what everyone thinks and putting their feelings and beliefs a head of my own.

Before any words manage to escape my mouth, my father holds up a hand in a plea for silence, then narrows his cold gray eyes and shakes his head slowly. And tears once again well in my eyes and the hurt and anxiety threatening to choke me as I watch him begin loading my belongings out onto the front porch. Tossing plastic tote boxes and garbage bags onto the cement; shoving them further across the porch with the soles of his runners and not showing any care or concern when some of the containers topple over or the seams of the bags split under the abuse. He's letting me know that I'm no longer welcome there; that he's shedding not only his home of things that will remind him of me and Collin, but he's effectively discarding us physically out of his life.

"Why are you doing this?" I finally manage, as he turns to head back into the house. "Why can't you just listen to what I have to say?" I ask, and I notice the way his shoulders and back stiffen and hear his shaky intake of breath. He's furious; it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that he hates me. That he's pretty much hated me for the majority of my life. That I've been nothing but a nuisance since I became old enough to rebel against his heavy handed, strict approach to life and I'd grown the confidence to stand up for myself and make my own decisions. "Why does it always have to be your way or the highway? All my life it's always been about doing what makes you and mom happy. For once why can't I do something that makes _me_ happy?"

"You doing what makes you happy is what got you into this mess, Bree-Anne," he answers. "You doing what you want and what is only good for you is what made your life the complete disaster is."

"My life is not a complete disaster," I argue. "I finally have something amazing and tangible in front of me, daddy. Why can't you see that? Why can't you see that things happened for a reason? Donnie came back for me like he always said he would. He promised me always and forever and he's finally making good on that. Why can't you see it as the blessing that it is?"

"A blessing?" my father gives a derisive snort and turns and looks down at me. "You call this is a blessing? He's the one that let you down, Bree-Anne. He's the one that lied to you and left you alone. He's the one that turned you into what you are now. If he'd never taken advantage of you when you were vulnerable and he'd never come between you and Dean..."

"Don never took advantage of me," I quickly, and adamantly, defend my future husband. "I was vulnerable because of the problems that Dean and I were having and maybe I wasn't in the right frame of mine to make the best decisions, but he was there for me when I needed someone. He was there when no one else was. When you and mom turned your back on me because you both thought I should stay with Dean no matter what was going on in our lives, Don was the one who listened to me and understood where I was coming from. He was the one that helped me and you…"

"He helped you?" my dad gives a dry laugh. "Is that what you call what he did? Is that what you call convincing you to have an affair with him? Brainwashing you into thinking that adultery is acceptable? Sweet talking his way into your bed and then tossing you to the curb like yesterday's trash?"

I shake my head in denial. "That isn't how it happened and you know it. Dean was a monster; he was mean and abusive and both you and him made me feel like I was trapped and like I didn't have anywhere else to go and who to turn to! You thought it was okay, dad! You thought that what Dean was doing was perfectly acceptable!"

"You had an obligation to him!" my father snaps. "When you took your vows you promised to love, honor and obey him!"

"I never promised to let him treat me like a whore off of the street!" I cry, and jumping to my feet, plant myself directly in front of my father and jam a finger repeatedly into his chest. "I never promised that he'd talk to me like I was no better than the prostitutes he dragged off to jail in the course of his job. I never promised that I'd take the black eyes and the split lips and the cracked ribs and the busted ear drum! I never promised that I'd be okay with all of that! And what about his vows? What about when he promised to protect me and take care of me? He broke his vows long before I did! Or is this a classic case of a double standard. As long as it's the man who's at fault everything is forgivable. Is that how you see things, dad? Is that what your God teaches you?"

"You listen to me…" he furiously snatches a hold of my shoulders and shakes me vigorously. "You had an obligation to stand by Dean through thick and thin! You had an obligation to make things work! To turn the other cheek and be the bigger person. He who is without sin should cast the first stone and you…"

"Spare me your bible bullshit!" I rage, and shove his hands off of me. "All my life it's been about treating everyone as equals and forgiving people for their sins! All my life you've drilled it into me that everyone should get a second chance! Since I was a little girl you've gone on and on about the commandments and how a good Christian and a devout Catholic should behave! And I tried, dad! I tried to live up to all the expectations you had for me! And I tried to stick by Dean! I tried so hard to be faithful and true! But the second he turned into a complete monster and began to destroy everything that was good inside of me…"

"He's the person that started to instill good inside of you!" my dad interjects. "Everything that was good and pure about you was destroyed the second you turned sixteen and…"

"And what?" I challenge. "And I decided to have sex? I decided that I was in love with someone and I wanted to give myself to them? Because I decided to hand over my virginity and break some stupid abstinence vow that you practically forced down my throat when I was thirteen! Is that what this is all about? The fact that you lost your little girl to Donnie all those years ago and you're losing me to him again? Is that why you're being a selfish, stubborn bastard?"

"I am your father!" he bellows, and grabs me by the front of my shirt, and propelling me across the patio, backs me up against the wrought iron railing. "I am your father! I helped give you life and this is how you talk to me? You have the nerve to disrespect me and…"

"It's always about you!" I yell. "Ever since I was kid every decision and every choice I've ever made has always been about what you wanted! About what you'd think about me! I'm not a little girl anymore! I'm a grown woman and I'm a mother and I'm going to be someone's wife! I'm going to marry a decent, wonderful man who nearly gave his life to protect people like you and all you can do is stand here and talk shit about him! Respect is a two way fucking street and you need to…"

"Shut your mouth!" he orders, and clamps a hand over my lips and nose. "You shut that foul, tramp mouth of yours. Who the hell do you think you are? What the hell has happened to you? You either shut your mouth or I shut it for you! Understand me? How dare you come here and embarrass me like this? How dare you come here and humiliate your mother and I after everything you've done for us!"

"Let go of me!" I shriek against his palm, and beat one fist against his chest and rake the nails of my free hand along his forearm, causing him to wince and pain, release me and raise his hand as if to strike me. "Do it!" I dare him. "Do it! All my life you've walked around here like the second coming of Christ when you're the farthest goddamn thing from it! You want to hit me, dad? Is that what you really want? Do you want to prove once and for all that the reason you defended Dean so much is because deep down you and him are exactly the same?"

My father blinks, then lowers his hand and takes a step backwards.

"Dean is a piece of shit," I hiss. "He's nothing but a cold blooded, psychopathic murder! He stole drugs from a police raid and sold them on the street! He killed an innocent kid and then stood over his lifeless body and removed the bullets from his wounds because he didn't want to get caught! He's a monster and he deserves to rot in hell for the rest of his life. Isn't that one of the Ten Commandments? Though Shalt Not Kill? Or are the rules only set in stone for _certain_ people?"

"He never would have committed his sins if you hadn't have committed yours first," my father informs me. "If you'd never laid down with another man."

"Don't you blame what Dean did on me," I give a derisive snort. "I may not have exercised the best judgment and I should have handled things differently, but there's no goddamn way any rational human being can forgive him for murdering someone just because I decided that I deserved better than him."

"You pushed him over the edge," my dad shakes his head as he attempts to rationalize his absurd thoughts. "If you hadn't have…"

"And who pushed you over the edge?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest as I lean back against the railing and silently will my heart to stop thundering in my chest and plead for my body to cease it's uncontrollable shuddering. "Who made you do the things you did when you were young, daddy? You can't blame it on mom; you didn't even know her than. What lovely lady are you going to blame your sins and your evil doings on?"

"What are you talking about?" he asks, eyes narrowing. "What are…"

"I'm talking about the criminal record that is almost as long as Collin is tall," I reply. "I'm talking about how you spend time in jail for domestic assault, drug possession for the purposes of trafficking, public intoxication. There's a dozen other things I could bring up if you're suddenly suffering from a bout of selective memory."

"That little sonofabitch…" he mutters. "All these years I've kept that back to protect you and he turns around and uses it to turn you against me?"

"Donnie didn't tell me," I say. "I know that he knows all about you. So does his father. He even busted you a couple times himself, didn't he?"

"I can't believe this…" my father breathes, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I used to actually be mad at Don for never telling me about you," I continue. "I used to always want to bring it up and ask him why he'd kept it all back. And then I realized that he didn't tell me because he was afraid of the way I'd react. He was worried that I'd be pissed off that you'd lived a complete lie all of your life and that I wouldn't want anything to do with you anymore. He didn't want to be the person that wrecked our relationship so he kept quiet about it. So if anything, you should be on your hands and knees groveling to him for keeping your dirty little secrets. Because if it wasn't for him, I never would have been around. And neither would have Collin."

"I owe him nothing," my dad spits. "I wouldn't spit in his fucking direction! The man that you cheated on your husband with? Who got you pregnant and walked out on you when…"

"Donnie didn't know that Collin was his," I calmly interject. "He had no idea until he showed up here that the baby I'd been pregnant with at the trial was his. I'd told him that it was Dean's and that he didn't have anything to worry about. I lied to him. I lied to him, I lied to myself and I lied to everyone around me. Including Collin. All this time I thought I'd been fooling everyone about my son's parentage when in reality, the only fool in the entire thing has been me."

My father sighs heavily and rakes a hand through his thin, graying hair. "How did you know?" he asks. "How did you find out about me?"

"Jessica Angell told me," I answer. "We weren't the best of friends but we did spent some time together and we did respect one another. She'd tried to convince me tons of times to leave Dean. To just come clean about what was going on between Donnie and I. I guess she'd been worried about me and had mentioned a Bree-Anne Douglas in passing to her father. He was the one that put two and two together. Do you remember, Cliff Angell? You must remember him. He was the uniform officer that arrested you the last time. The one that convinced you to clean yourself up."

"Really is a small world," he declares.

"You talk about how I disappointed and I disgust you," I struggle with tears yet again. "You talk about how I'm pathetic and how I'm embarrassed you and mom and let you both down with the decisions I've made. But what about how you let me down, dad? How about all those times you taught me to be decent and not lie and treat everyone as if I'd want to be treated and all the while you were lying to me. All the while you were hiding your past. You always say how people atone for their sins and should be forgiving. Why is it you can talk the talk but not walk the walk?"

He doesn't respond.

"All I ever wanted was for you to admit to me what you'd been like before," I tell him. "I used to beg and plead every night to God for you to just come to me and be open and honest about the life you'd led before mom. If you'd only just…" I sigh and shake my head. "…if you'd only just told me sooner and been honest with me, I would have been able to forgive you for being such a cruel, hypocritical bastard."

"Don't you talk to me like that, Bree-Anne," he whispers. "Don't you dare talk to your father like that."

"But you can talk to me anyway you want?" I counter. "You can disrespect me and talk to me like I'm just some piece of shit off the street? I'm your daughter, dad. Your only daughter. I am the mother of your grandson and I deserve to be treated with dignity and respect. But talking to me the way you have? Putting your hands on me like you did?"

"I was upset," he attempts to reason. "You got me upset and…"

"I know that you're disappointed in me," I ignore him. "I know that I shouldn't have lied about who Collin's real father was and that I shouldn't have cheated on Dean. I didn't handle things the right way and I'll always wish I could take some it back and do it over. But what I don't regret is what happened between Don and I. I've loved him since I was fourteen years old and I've wanted nothing but to spend my life with him. And if it wasn't for Don, I wouldn't have Collin. And my son is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. He's the light at the end of every dark tunnel I've ever had to travel. And I don't regret for a moment the second that Donnie and I made him together."

"And you think that that's okay, Bree-Anne? That it's okay that the two of you created a bastard child together?"

"My son is an incredible, beautiful, phenomenally intelligent little boy," I counter. "He's my everything. He's made of everything that is good about Donnie and I. He didn't ask to be born. He didn't ask to be the by-product of all the craziness. But he was made and he did come into this world and there was never a time where he wasn't loved or wanted. And for you to talk about him like that? To call him names? That just shows me how close you are to slipping back down to the lowest of the low. So take your preaching and your self-righteous bullshit and go back inside. Because I won't have my son growing up around someone as indignant and vicious as you."

My father blinks at the harshness of my statement and the cold indifference in my voice. And as he opens his mouth to speak and to no doubt unleash another verbal attack on me, the moment is interrupted by the sounds of a car pulling up in front of the house. Tires crackling on trash that litters the curbs followed by an engine being killed and the open and closing of a door.

"Bree-Anne," my soon to be father in law's voice calls from the end of the driveway. "Are you okay?"

"It's time for me to go," I say to my dad, and then allow my eyes to survey my belongings. "It's obvious that neither you or mom want Collin and I to be part of your lives."

"We never said that," he shakes his head sadly. "We never said that we didn't…"

"Action speak louder than words," I inform him, and gather up one of the tote boxes. "For the record, there's been a lot I've forgiven you about, dad. Never admitting about your past, making me feel as if I was just a piece of trash that deserved what Dean was doing to me…"

"Bree-Anne, I never…"

"Keeping Donnie from me," I finish. "You thought I didn't know about that, didn't you. You had no idea that I knew about all the times he'd call and you wouldn't let him speak to me. I'm not a stupid girl, you know. I could figure it all out for myself. Don's the type of man that always keeps his word. And when he didn't come for me like he promised he would, I knew that there was greater forces in play. I guess I just thought that he'd be the one person to finally make you realize what kind of damage you were doing to me. Wishful thinking, I guess. Or maybe things were supposed to happen that way. So that when you finally met your demise, you'd meet it in a way you'd never forget."

"Is everything all right?" Flack Senior asks, as he mounts the front porch; blue eyes narrowing as he takes in the sight of the plastic boxes and garbage bags. "What's going on here?" he inquires, as he notices the tearing and wrinkling to my shirt, my tear stained face and my swollen face.

"A minor misunderstanding," my father replies. "None of your goddamn business."

"Girl looks like she's gone a couple rounds with Mike Tyson," Senior observes. "You don't get that way unless someone's been puttin' their hands on you. And if you've been puttin' your hands on my daughter in law?"

"I'm fine," I assure him, and step to his side; immediately calmed and comforted by his towering, reassuring presence. "Can we just leave? I just want to leave."

"We can do whatever you want, doll," he says, and laying a hand on my shoulder, gives it a firm squeeze and then affectionately tousles my hair. "You go on and wait in the car and I'll grab as much of this stuff as I can. I'll send the boys over later to get the rest."

I nod in agreement and then turn and descend the steps.

"If you go, you can never come back," my dad warns, and I pause in the middle of the front walk and turn back to face him. "Is that really what you want, Bree-Anne? After everything that your mother and I have done for you?"

I simply give a tiny smile and turn on my heel and head towards the car.

One step closer to the only place I truly feel I belong.

And to the only person who ever meant the words, 'I love you' and has always found a way to show them.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and subscribing! I appreciate each and every one of you!**


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